Comida parte dos: Sharing is caring

I consider myself a moderately generous person. If you need something and I have it, I most likely have let you borrow or use it. I share wine, I share books, I share toiletries, I share tips, we all know I like to over-share about my life. I’m generally the sharing type.

Until it comes to food.

I don’t know when it started exactly, but I have a little bit of anxiety with sharing food. I don’t know how to describe it other than I get the feeling of being cheated or like if I don’t guard my food it will all be taken and I will be left hungry. This feeling has only been exacerbated by my intolerance to gluten, which has made me incapable of eating most things offered to me, but does not make the things I am eating untouchable to everyone else. It isn’t to say I don’t share my food, I often share my food. I offer, sometimes people ask first. Only a handful of times have I actually told someone “no” about sharing my food, and these moments were embarrassing to say the least (unless we´re talking about Justin, in which case he had probably already eaten more than his share). And, lets face it, there are some foods you just don’t share. Honestly, I’m pretty embarrassed about this quirk of mine. I should just give and not expect to receive, and all of that other good “above it all” crap. But my problem is there are people out there that take and take and don’t give back.

Some have theories that it must have been started by being the youngest in a family of boys; three-older brothers ravenous in their adolescent growth-spurts, their insatiable hunger driving them to devour everything in site and leaving the poor, scrawny little sister with the decision to fight for her food or go hungry. It’s a good theory, but it has one major flaw—I was the pickiest eater around and would’ve done anything to be rid of the burden of a full plate of food. I mostly lived off cereal and hot chocolate. I do, however, have clear memories of my brother Sean leaving less than half-a-bowl of cereal in the box, leaving about the same amount of milk, and the un-holiest of all sharing practices; he used to break a cookie in half and pick the larger half for himself. Everyone knows it’s a cardinal rule of sharing that if you break the cookie in half, the other person gets to choose first.

Just like everything else in life, there are unspoken common courtesies. You hold open the door for the person with their arms full, you let pregnant women or the elderly take your seat on the bus while you stand, and when it comes to food, you offer, and the receiver only takes a little unless the person offering says it’s okay to take a lot.  So I suppose more specifically I have a problem with allowing someone to take more than their share of something. If we’re going halve-sies, we’re going halve-sies, and no one is getting more than their share unless someone is willing to relinquish their half. There are rules about these things.

Needless to say, the rules here are different.

You remember the general rule of elementary school of not eating in the classroom unless you have enough to share with the entire class? (I always hated that rule, by the way, and often hid lifesavers or mentos in my desk.) Well that is the rule of Peru. If you have food, you are sharing it with everyone present.

I once witnessed a moment when a single person eating a roll of bread in the presence of 12 other people was swarmed, and like some miraculous act of Jesus, somehow shared with everyone there. A roll. It was hardly the size of my fist. But the person knew that by having that piece of bread around others, they were obligated to share with everyone present.

Because this rule is so standfast, sometimes you don’t even have to offer food because people will ask for it and take it without waiting for a response. “Me invitas….” they’ll whine, and you’re stuck. Otherwise everyone just sits and waits for the offer, while thinking you’re an asshole if you don’t.

People don’t even drink their own beer. “Drinking circles” are the way to socially drink, which consists of one beer, one cup, and a group of people standing in a circle. There’s a whole process on how to pass it and everything. (I could write a whole post on just alcohol alone, so we’ll leave that for another day).

In the states I got pretty used to “my food” and “your food”, and unless an equal-share arrangement had been made with both parties, you stuck to eating your own food. Most times this agreement became null for me, as I generally had something gluten-free and the other person did not. Therefore, sharing was minimized quite a bit, as few people wanted to take some of my food without having anything to offer in return.

That doesn’t really fly here.

My mom sent me a package with GF mac and cheese in the mail awhile back. I held onto it for a long time, wondering when I could make it without having to share it. I learned in training that if you have something and you don’t want to share it, you hide it in your room and hoard it. Not exactly the healthiest habit to have, hoarding food and eating it in secret, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

So one day after getting to know my now host-family’s habits and schedules, I decided to go for it. Dinner isn’t a big meal here, it mostly consists of leftovers, and oftentimes is leftover rice with a fried egg and fried bananas. Sometimes my host family just eats bread and cheese (part of which I can’t partake in) so I decided it would only be just that I make my own mac and cheese and they eat their glutenous bread.

Within 60 seconds of readying the water to boil, every family member had stopped everything they were doing and had come from the furthest reaches of the household to stand in the kitchen and ask me what I was making. I showed them the box and they marveled at it, this foreign food item that appeared to be something made from wheat, but somehow magically wasn’t. They stood over me, uncomprehending this item that was both noodles and cheese, and yet the noodles were made out of rice, and the cheese was a package of powder.

Things moved on and my host-mom fried some eggs as I finished up the mac and cheese. Everyone had saddled up to their plate of rice and fried egg as I dished up my plate of the gooey, unnaturally-orange perfection. The whole time I felt everyone’s eyes boring into me.

I am not going to offer my food to them.

I am NOT going offer my food to them!

“Amanda, me invitas…”

Normally I can eat an entire package of mac to myself, but because I now had four people that wanted to try, I took less than half. Within seconds, my saving grace had been divvied up and everyone was eating the mac.

“Cultural exchange, Amanda, cultural exchange….you’re letting them try American food,” I told my inner beast of hunger.

“Oh, this is just like treschiz,” my host sister said.

“Oh, yeah…” everyone said as they realized what I had prepared was not, in fact, some foreign delicacy, but simply a food they knew and rarely ate, just with a different name. 

“Yeah….like treschiz, only I can’t eat treschiz because it’s made with wheat,” I said, trying to keep the smile big and passive aggressiveness down. “If you don’t want it, I would be more than happy to eat it, since it was a gift from my mom all the way from the United States of America.”

I think at this point my host-sister saw the beast, so she picked up her plate and left the room. I managed to get over it, told myself “you at least got to eat some of it, which is more than you had before.” Until the next morning, when I went to make my breakfast and found half a plate of my beautiful mac and cheese in the pig-slop bucket.

To be honest, it had been kind of a bad week, and seeing those noodles forsaken and scattered in a pile of food scraps was just too much. I might have cried a little bit. I might have also asked my host sister why she would throw such a thing away, when I had made myself clear that I would eat it.

That’s when I realized I needed a perspective change.

Whether I think I should share or not, they all do. And while I would love to indulge and have certain things all to myself, it only alienates my host family and makes me even weirder to them if I don’t partake in what they consider a common courtesy. Besides, I have a bag full of gluten-free mixes and absolutely nowhere to make them. Flours flop, even when they’re stored in airtight bags. Am I going to potentially let my gifts from home go bad in my stubbornness to not share?

This is still a process for me. I still keep certain food in my room (peanut butter will never be communal), I still hesitate on sharing certain things, rack my brain with ways to get away with eating it all to myself, and I sometimes stop by the tienda and buy cocadas or sublime’s to hide in my bag and eat in the secrecy of my room.

However, it´s getting easier. It’s actually kind of relieving, like a weight lifted off my chest. Less sneaking around and hiding, more happy faces and moments to bond with my host family. And it’s another step to integration. I’ll know I’m really integrated when I work up the nerve to lower my bottom lip and let out a whine of “Por favoooorrr….me invitas…”

Nah, I won´t do that. Gotta start small. Poco a poco.

Comida

A local mother butchering and preparing cabrito for a school function.

 Peruvians are nothing if not proud of their food. One of the first questions I’m asked by people is, “Do you like Peruvian food?” and then, “What is your favorite Peruvian food?”

I have a hard time answering this question, and sadly not because I love all of it. I am not Peruvian food’s biggest fan. But do I say I don’t like it? Of course not! A) I have to follow the rule of not being negative in anyway, even if that means lying and B) It’s always better to emphasize the things you like than talk about the things you dislike. Therefore, I say, “Well, I looooove food so much I of course love Peruvian food! I love all types of food! But if I have to pick a favorite, I would say…” After filling them in on my favorite foods (which I have posted below) I then tell them I am still acostumbrando a Peruvian food, since I am still not used to eating so much rice. I then take the opportunity for a cultural lesson on how in the U.S. we eat a lot more vegetables, and rice is more of a side dish that is eaten occasionally. Whenever I tell them this, they look at me like I just told them in the States dogs meow and cats bark.

Since food is such a big deal here (and such a big deal to me) it makes me a little sad that I am not in love with it, and only occasionally like it. A lot of this has some to do with my limited options (gluten-free), and the mountainous portions of rice and excessive use of boiled potatoes and maiz morado (purple corn) in the platos tipicos of my region. You’re hard pressed to see a vegetable on your plate (corn is not a vegetable! It’s a grain!), unless there are peas in the stew, and even with the wild variety of fruit available in Peru, it is most commonly used for freshly made juice puree with a ton of sugar added.

Being gluten-free in Peru is hard. There is good food in Peru, but I don’t always get to eat it. Having said that, I still know people that are completely capable of eating anything on this planet that have a hard time with the food in Peru. As one volunteer said to me, “It’s hard never being excited for a meal, and never feeling satisfied.” But, much of this has to do with the fact that we’re in the Peace Corps, not on vacation. (If you’d like to check out a blog of someone who does love Peruvian food, you can check out my friend Lindsay’s blog, The Glutton’s Digest.)

So here’s a run down on my experience with Peruvian food; the stuff I like, the stuff I eat even though I don’t really like it, and the stuff I can’t even try. And P.S.- I´ve only been here 4 months, and I´ve only been in a couple areas of Peru, so I´m of course giving you a very limited view at Peruvian cuisine. So just remember, what I'm saying isn´t 100% how it is everywhere. That´s why you should read Lindsay´s blog. Plus she´s awesome.)

Before we start, some vocabulary words and common foods/condiments:

Ajinomoto: MSG. It’s used in practically everything, but a lot of times as a substitute for salt.

Aji: a sauce made from peppers and other ingredients, aji is made into a variety of different sauces of all different colors and levels of spiciness. I can’t try all the different kinds because some are thickened with crushed up crackers.

Camote: Sweet potato. They just eat it plain, but the second I find brown sugar I’m going to introduce them to the amazingness of sweet potatoes a la Thanksgiving dinner.

Yuka: The first time I tried yuka I thought it was an extremely dry potato. However, it is a root that looks like a section of trunk from a small tree when you buy it at the market (literally has bark on it) but is peeled and boiled or cooked down to essentially straight starch.

Choclo: a type of corn that has extremely large kernels. This along with yuka and camote are common side dishes to cebiche, cuy, and just about anything else.

Chicha: This is a drink made from corn, and it can be both alcoholic and non-alcoholic. It is often sickeningly sweet. Chicha morada (made from purple corn) is made with cloves and cinnamon, or with lime. I loathe it.

Inka Kola: Peru’s very own and frequently consumed soda. It’s Simpsons-esque “nuclear-waste yellow” practically glows, and it tastes like bubble gum.

Queso, leche, y yogurt: This is another one of those things that changes from department to department, but in many areas dairy can be hard to come by. Cheese is not common and can be bought at large grocery stores in the city (which is very expensive). Milk can be bought at the store in a can, in a box, or in a bag and often isn’t refrigerated until after it’s opened. Yogurt is drinkable, often isn’t refrigerated, and I have yet to find any that’s thicker or sugar-free. Even “natural” yogurt has way too much sugar in it or uses fake sweetener. Where I live, however, we get milk everyday from a friend’s cow (which we pasteurize at home) and we’re close enough to the department of Cajamarca that we get to indulge in some awesome cheese (which I am not 100% sure is pasteurized).

Also, it should be noted lunch is the most important meal of the day, not dinner. It is when everyone takes a break from work in the fields and comes home to be with their family before they head out to work again, and also around the same time kids finish with school. Breakfast is usually bread, and dinner is usually leftovers from lunch.

Hunka’ hunka’ burnin’ cow heart

Street vendor in Trujillo, La Libertad, firing up the grill for
our anticuchos. 

While I was in training they often forewarned us about comida en la calle, or street food, especially during our first weeks of our bodies adjusting to life in Peru. Street food was seen as a one-way ticket to an evening riding the bicicleta (Peruvian slang for diarrhea). So, seeing as how I didn’t want to lose the pool and poop my pants, I stayed pretty far away from it. But, after a few weeks of less than mediocre meals* that left me unsatisfied and with crashing blood sugar level due to the fact I was mostly just eating rice and potatoes, I caved to the sizzling sounds and wonderful wafting smells coming from the street carts. I am so glad I did. Street food can be tricky for me, because not only do I have to worry about the normal stuff like, “How old is that meat?” but whether or not there are any GF friendly options. So, my tried and true street food friend has, and shall continue to be, anticucho. Anticucho is basically any meat barbecued on a stick, kind of like shish kabobs, but is most commonly known to be cow heart. You can also get cow and chicken intestine, but they tend to be chewier. Anticucho is amazing for so many reasons: 1) Because it’s heart, it can be overcooked and still be more tender than regular meat, 2) it comes with delicious sauces that are spicy and wonderful, 3) you can get it in practically any town on any ol’ street corner, and 4) it’s cheap!

*side note: I now live with a family that feeds me more than rice and potatoes and I don’t have to rely on street food for protein and food fulfillment. I still love it, though.

Pato Guisada-- stewed duck. I only ate this once in the department
of La Libertad, but the guiso is typical of any meat. 

My other “go-to” Peruvian foods that I know I don’t have to worry about (at least too much) are pollo a la brasa (rotisserie chicken served with french fries) and cebiche (fish cooked with the acid of lime/lemon juice and served with red onion). Also, basically anything guisada is pretty tasty, which is stewed meat, sometimes served with a few small morsels of vegetables.

Luckily desserts aren’t a big problem for me. You can get flan, arroz con leche (rice pudding), and ice cream just about anywhere. Some Peru-specific sweets I have taken quite a liking to are:

Chupetes: Homemade popsicles that come in a plastic bag. They have a ton of different names and are called marcianos in La Libertad. They are usually made with all of the awesome different and unique fruits of Peru.

Cocadas: Think no-bake cookies, only instead of oatmeal it’s shredded coconut, and instead of chocolate it’s caramelized sugar. Okay, so it’s nothing like a no-bake, but it’s freaking delicious, and they’re sold at 50 centimos a pop.

Lucuma flavored anything: Lucuma is a fruit specific to Peru that I have yet to eat. I do however enjoy all things Lucuma flavored, which includes yogurt and ice cream. I wish I could describe it, but I just can’t.

So typical...

As I’ve said before, Peruvians love their rice, and they eat essentially an entire plate of it with a side of meat and potatoes (some people aren’t lucky enough to get the side of meat). Here are a couple typical dishes I eat that are actually decent, but I don’t love them so much I’d eat them as regularly as Peruvians do.

Cabrito: Kid goat, stewed and served with some white beans and rice. I ate this my first week at site and then got food poisoning. Needless to say, it’s been ruined for me, which is unfortunate because it’s served at every event and party.

Arroz con pollo: mildly seasoned rice with peas, choclo, and tiny chunks of carrots, and a chunk of chicken. Woohoo. A little boring, but it´s growing on me.

Cuy: Guinea Pig. Yep, that cuddly, oversized rodent many elementary students in the U.S. cherish as their classroom pet and name something cute like “Mr. Snuggles” is mostly just known as “lunch” here. Cuy is eaten in many different ways, but typically is served frito (fried) or guisada. Cuy have a high protein content and once you get past their extremely thick, fatty skin, they are pretty tasty. Although I have been chastised for not eating the skin—most Peruvian’s favorite part.

On a school field trip many of the kids brought
along a tupper of cuy and rice for lunch.

Causa: There are some different versions of this typical dish that depend on what department you are in. When I had it, it was salted fish topped with pickled onions on a plate garnished with mashed potatoes, camote, and choclo. Another version I’ve heard of was more of a layered dish, the salted fish stuffed between layers of mashed potatoes and mayonnaise.

Arroz con minestras: I like lentils, and I like peas. But ends up, I’m not a huge fan of smashed up peas/lentils on rice.

Mosemora: A desert as popular as arroz con leche, I go between being able to eat this just fine and never wanting to see it again. It is basically the warm, goopy, gelatin version of chicha, sometimes with fruit chunks in it.

Untouchable

As I said, there is good food in Peru, but I can’t always eat it. Here are some classics that I always have to miss.

Papas rellenas: fried mashed potato balls stuff with stewed meat, raisins, olives, and hard-boiled egg. It’s actually pretty good, but they roll the balls in flour before frying them. I had the opportunity to try them once because some were made special for me.

A papa rellena I helped make in my language class during
training. This is the only one I´ve eaten, since I got to
make it without flour. 

Papas a la huancaina: same mashed potato balls, only instead of stuffed and fried they’re covered with a thick sauce that contains crackers.

Chicharones: breaded and deep-fried meat. Served with? You guessed it. Rice.

Chifa: Essentially any type of Chinese food. Mostly fried rice, though. I can’t have it because it’s made with soy sauce (second ingredient: wheat) I’ve also seen it eaten with mayonnaise on top.

Lomo Saltado: I actually ate this before realizing I shouldn’t. It’s a beef stir-fry with big fat slices of tomato, red peper, and onion, served with french fries. It was absolutely delicious. It also has a ton of soy sauce in it (whoops). It was worth it.

Caldo de Gallina: Chicken noodle soup, often with full-on chicken feet. I hear it’s tasty with lime.

For desserts, I just try to remind myself sublime bars (chocolate with peanuts) and cocadas are just as good…

Tres leches: I was lucky enough to try this in Costa Rica before I knew I couldn’t have gluten. It’s a white cake soaked in evaporated milk, topped with whipped cream and cinnamon. Seriously delicious.

Picarones: Fried donuts made with sweet potato flour. They smell divine, but of course have regular wheat flour in them as well, so I’ll never truly know.

Churros: The classic fried-dough roll, usually filled with manjar blanco, Peru’s version of caramel.

Paneton: A classic Christmas favorite served with hot chocolate, it’s basically a fruit cake, only people actually like it.

You don’t know what you got ‘til it’s…

My host-sister helping me plate the chicken enchiladas,
black beans,and spanish rice I made for my host family.

I have been known to dream about American Dream gluten-free pizza, have withdrawals from my Mom’s homemade enchiladas, and spend way too much time fantasizing about simple foods I used to make for myself at home or indulge in at restaurants. But when I joined the Peace Corps, I made an oath: I will do the same work, eat the same food, and speak the same language as the nationals of the country I live in. Of those three things, food is definitely the hardest. I have lost all control of my daily diet, which I used to be in charge of. The only food I really make for myself here is my breakfast, which is usually yogurt and bananas, or plain oatmeal. Food has so many connections to our lives; it fills a basic biological need of course, but it also connects us to our family and to our culture. It effects our mood and energy, it’s filled with nostalgia and sometimes “made with love.” In some cases, controlling what we eat seems to be the only control we have in our lives. And when I came to Peru, I lost that control and handed it over to the family I live with. I make the occasional “American meal” for my host family, but for the most part I am at the mercy of their personal diet decisions. And to be fair, I am actually getting pretty used to it and liking it a lot more. 

Food has also been something that has helped me make stronger connections to those around me. Telling my host-mom I want to know how she makes a certain dish shows her I appreciate her and care about their traditions. Making food for my host-family helps them experience just a taste of what the U.S. is like. But when I’m backed in a corner and people want to know, “Which food do you like more? American food or Peruvian food?” I’m left with little choice but to say…

“Peruvian food, of course!”

Sueños

Sometimes I get stressed out hearing the TV in my house. Having a stay-at-home mom for a host-sister means the TV is often on, cued in to whatever telanovela happens to be on. Have you ever watched a telanovela? Have you ever watched three telanovelas in a row? I didn't grow up in a household with a lot of fighting or crying (unless you count me in my teenage years) so to hear nonstop angry diatribes, crying, and melodramatic lovers quarrels spewing out at a decibel just a tad too high for comfort is, well, uncomfortable. My favorite part of watching telanovelas is laughing everytime someone passes out or fake cries. This happens a lot. I think I ruin telanovelas for my host-sister now, because she doesn't watch nearly as many with me anymore. Who wants a crazy person laughing at serious stuff all the time?

Which seems to be the theme of my life here these days--the crazy person who laughs at the wrong times, doesn't laugh when everyone else is laughing, says things that don't make sense, and sometimes cries for seemingly no reason. At least the girls in the telanovelas have a reason to cry. Their supposedly dead husband never really died and shows up at their wedding to their new man, and when they get ready to re-marry their once-thought dead husband, his secret second family shows up. Talk about problems. Why would I cry?

Which is why I hate getting too deeply involved with emotions and feelings in my blog posts outside of blind optimism. Because who wants to hear about the crying and conflicted feelings. But let's get serious--it's not all sunshine and sublime bars, brother. There are days of frustration, loneliness, and confusion.

Don't get me wrong, things are still great. Each day I become more and more comfortable with my host family, my co-workers, teaching English classes, walking down the street in my town, dancing in front of everyone, etc. I can't walk down the street without at least five people yelling my name. And it feels really good to know things are slowly getting better, to know I'm here on the adventure of a lifetime.

But some days just suck. Some days I don't want to be stared at by everyone as I walk down the street or be chased by a group of 10 year old girls. Sometimes it sucks that I'm so far away from home, missing out on all the things happening with family and friends. Sometimes I just want to call a friend and talk, and I can't. And some days I just want to express my feelings and thoughts to the people around me, and whether its language skills or cultural differences, I can't express myself properly. People don't get it. I just continue to be the odd person who sounds funny and says things that don't make sense, is tired when she "hasn't done anything," is sad when no one has died, or is not doing things the way they should be done. 

This week has been a big festival in my town and everyone has been out celebrating. There's a ferris wheel up in my town, food booths, trampolines, carnival games, a haunted house--the whole works. It should be awesome, but it's probably been the most frustrating week I've had in site with miss-communications abound. I just wanted to hide in my room and ignore everybody, but I made myself go out and see all the festivities. Last night I was hanging out in the plaza with one of my new friends (and by "friend" I mean person who I am in proximity with a lot for a youth group) making small talk, taking in the scene of people dressed in their nicest clothes walking around eating their cotton candy, popcorn, and candied apples. Then out of nowhere, completely unprompted, my friend asked me, "Do you have a dream?"

It kind of took me aback a little because not many people have tried to have deeper-than-surface conversations with me, or at least personal deeper-than-surface conversations. And now this guy wants to know what my dream is and what I aspire to do?

I looked at him and kind of laughed as I said, "Well...I guess this is my dream. I'm living it right now!" He looked confused, probably because my dream involves a tiny town he's lived in his whole life and just wants to leave. "My dream has been to travel the world, learn to speak new languages and get to know new people and cultures. And I'm here with you, right now, speaking in Spanish, living and working in this small town in Peru. I've been thinking about this job for four or five years now."

His dream is to become a dancer. But that's beside the point.

As I left the festivities far earlier than anyone else, but still late for me, I couldn't stop thinking about the question of dreams. No one really tells you that even when you're living the dream things are still going to be hard, or that you will still want to "get away" from it all.

I got home and somehow ended up looking through a years worth of photos from my last year living in Boise. That was seriously one awesome year. Being separated from the comforts of home has made me extremely nostalgic. I have had a lot of luck in life with friends and opportunities to travel and live in different places. I've met a lot of amazing people and seen a lot of beautiful places. My heart is still in Idaho. And Oregon. And Spain. And....

The problem with a dream being the world is it gives you more and more people and places to miss. And someday in the next two-years, I'm going to be thinking back on the days I spent in Peru working for the Peace Corps, wondering where the time went...

You just can't win.

¡Bien baile, gringita!

Within my first two weeks at site, I had some experiences that were some of the funniest, craziest, and most awkward moments of my life. I´ve now been here more than a month, and has time has gone on I´ve realized I better get used to these things, because this is now my new norm. 

It has continued to remain true that if I am invited to an event I will: A) most likely be asked to speak (whether I knew about it ahead of time or not); B) eat cabrito (stewed young goat served with rice and white beans); and most importantly C) dance in front of everybody.

And while many times I am overly concerned about my speech and if I’m addressing people properly, whether I’m eating enough of my food to make those around me happy but not too much to feel sick, the one factor that will guarantee me more friends and form confianza faster has nothing to do with formalities, but dancing my butt off.

At first I thought it was just that I am a novelty—a big tall gringa who comes into town and gets up in front of everybody and dances with the mayor who is half her size. People would approach me and pat me on the arm, laughing and happy that I had danced for everyone’s entertainment. But as time has gone on and every event I attend (no matter how formal) ends or begins with dancing, and all the small-talk involves asking, “What is your favorite dance?” I have realized it is not just that I’m a big goof here for their entertainment (although that is a big part of it). It is that I am participating in something that is important to them and has a deep foundation in their culture. People instantly warmed up to me once they saw I had the ability to let my guard down and participate in something that is a big part of their everyday lives.

Teachers cutting a rug after class

So far I have a great relationship with the director and teachers at the high school I work at, and they are very supportive with the work I want to do at the school. I know for a fact that the day I sealed the deal as a good person to them was the day I attended an all-teachers party and danced for two-hours straight with everyone present.

Peruvians have great pride in their different bailos and danzas tipicos. There are typical dances from the selva (rainforest), sierra (mountains), and costa (coast, where I’m at). There are dances of the north and south, and dances adapted from others in Bolivia and Columbia. And each dance has its outfit, its meaning, and its story in the history of Peru. Then of course, there is just plain getting down and dirty, dancing to regatone and shaking what yo’ mama gave ya. Six-year-old girls know how to move their hips in ways that I will never be able to. This is both awe inspiring and disturbing. However, it is a big part of their everyday lives, and every dance has its place in social settings and events.

Alpa Wuiru, a local dance group performing at an event

I recently was invited to hang out with a youth group in town comprised of guys and girls ages 17-20 that is part of the municipalidad (municipality) and gets together five-days a week to practice different dances for different town or district events. They invited me to dance huayno (pronounced wino, a typical sierra danza) with them for an event (I ended up performing in four different events in four different towns. They decided this was a faster and easier way to present me to the different towns in the area as a Peace Corps volunteer, but that’s a story for another day). As I was learning the different steps to the dance, they all jumped and cheered and yelled “¡Bravo!” every time I did it right. Talk about a confidence booster! The kids asked me if I performed danzas tipicos back in the U.S. It’s hard to explain to someone with a culture so filled with dancing that it just isn’t the same in the U.S. Sure, for performance dancing we have tap and ballet, jazz, break-dancing and hip hop (and more I probably don’t know about). But kids don’t grow up knowing how to do every single one of these dances and perform them on a regular basis. It isn’t ingrained in us in school, at home, and in social settings. I'm no expert on dancing, so I could be way off, but thats my point exactly; dancing just doesn't have the same presence in our culture. In the U.S. we are taught to find our talent and run with it. When we’re younger we often have more opportunities (mostly girls) to participate in a type of dance, but unless we are willing to dedicate time, sweat, and hard work to something so we can “go somewhere” with it, it is generally dropped for something else we can succeed at as we get older. There’s also the matter of time, of course. We have a much more competitive culture which does not exclude the arts. This is also hard to explain; not pursuring something you enjoy because you’re not the best.

Two chiquititos dancing marinara at a serenata

I tell them I just like to go dancing with my girlfriends, but even this doesn’t make a lot of sense to them because when you go out dancing you don’t dance by yourself or in a group of people. Occasionally you dance in a circle with someone in the middle, but that depends on the music, because all music has it’s specific dancing—salsa, cumbia, huayno, etc. If you’re out on the dance floor it’s with a dance partner, and if there is space, everyone stands in a line side-by-side. Generally boys are in one line and girls are in the other. It’s kind of awkward. I try to explain to them that we do have partner dancing in the U.S., but a lot of the dances are from other cultures. The U.S. does have its different variations of swing dancing, and I’m more used to country-swing. They don’t have any dances like that here and I would love to teach them except I don’t know how because I just follow the guys lead and try not to fall over as I’m being spun around. And as I’ve said before, all guys dance here, so it’s really weird to them that in the U.S. the stereotype is that a lot of guys don’t like to dance (or are afraid to dance in public) and many people don’t dance until they’ve “had enough to drink”. 

Dancing with the youth group definitely confirmed my theory that one of the ways to a Peruvians hearts is through dancing, and I’ve even received some respect from people in town who are impressed that the gringa was able to so quickly learn something they grew up doing. Dancing just makes everything better. Even in the English classes I’m teaching to 5^th and 6^th graders, when I find a way to include dancing in the lessons, everyone is happier.

The teachers performing huayno for the school on Dia del Juventud

It’s actually quite freeing to know that the more I get into dancing, the more vulnerable I feel, the stronger of a relationship I’m forming with those around me. You´ve just got to put yourself out there. As we grew up with the encouragement to “dance like nobody’s watching”, here it seems to be “dance like everyone is watching” so that you dance with more pride, more ganas, and shine even brighter—and everyone surely is watching. And luckily for me, that works in my favor.

Alpa Wuiru and me after our second performance at a neighboring high school

World Wise Schools; Hello Challis Jr.High 7th and 8th graders!

When I accepted my invitation to the Peace Corps, I was given information on an organization within PC called World Wise Schools. WWS is an optional program that partners volunteers with a teacher and classroom in the U.S. to correspond with during their two-year service. It can be any grade and any subject, and a volunteer can also specifically request teachers they know. I decided it was a great opportunity to share what I’m doing with my community back home, so I partnered up with Mrs. Phillips, my 7^th and 8^th grade Social Studies teacher, high school track coach, and someone I consider a leader in the community.  So, I’m dedicating this blog-post to the 7^th and 8^th grade students of Challis Jr. High School in Mrs. Phillips’ Social Studies class.

Hello 7^th and 8^th graders of Challis Jr. High!

Allow me to introduce myself:

My name is Amanda, I’m 25-years-old, and I grew up in Challis, Idaho. But right now, I’m in Peru, South America serving as a Peace Corps Volunteer for the next two years. I am going to be corresponding with your class with Mrs. Phillips over the school year, and you’re going to be learning about Peru while following my adventures as I navigate my way through a new country and culture.

Before I tell you more about why I’m in Peru and what it means to be a Peace Corps Volunteer, let me tell you a little bit about myself.

I come from a family of six with three-older brothers, and my family moved from Oregon to Challis when I was about 4-years-old. While my brothers and I have all graduated from CHS and moved away, my parents still live there today, and I still consider Challis home. 

7th grade 

I had Social Studies with Mrs. Phillips as well when I was in 7^th and 8^th grade, only we had classes in the old junior high school on Main Street. With about 60 students in my 8^th grade class, we were one of the largest classes to ever go through the Challis school system. If I remember right, Mrs. P had to tell me to be quiet a lot because I spent more time talking and flirting than doing my schoolwork. In middle school and high school I played volleyball and ran in track, loved to draw and paint, and spent any free time with my friends listening to music and hanging out.

8th grade

I graduated 8^th grade in 2000, high school in 2004, and finished college at Boise State University in 2009. I studied writing and Spanish at BSU and during my time in college had the opportunity to travel and study Spanish in both Costa Rica and Spain.

And now, I’m living in Peru!

August 2011 at my Swearing In Ceremony
to become a Peace Corps Volunteer

So, what is Peace Corps anyways?

A ¨papelote¨ or poster I made to help
explain what Peace Corps is to
the people in my Peruvian community.

Peace Corps is an organization that is part of the United States government that promotes development in developing countries, like Peru, through the work of a volunteer. Peace Corps was created in 1961 by President John F. Kennedy as an option for U.S. citizens to serve their country, like the military, only on a mission to promote peace and develop friendship between developing countries and the U.S.

Peace Corps volunteers currently serve in 77 countries all over the world, and there are more than 200 volunteers in Peru. Volunteers only work within countries and communities that have invited the Peace Corps to work there.

Peace Corps has three goals for its mission:

1. To help the people of interested countries (in my case, Peru) in meeting their need for trained men and women.
2. To help promote a better understanding of Americans on the part of the peoples served (i.e. I will help break stereotypes about the U.S.).
3. To help promote a better understanding of other peoples on the part of all Americans (In other words, this blog would be considered part of goal three! I’m telling everyone back home about Peru and my experiences here).

Peace Corps has multiple different programs, but there are five programs total in Peru:

• Water and Sanitation Development
• Environmental Development
• Community Health Development
• Small Business Development
• Community/Youth Development

I am a Youth Development volunteer, which means I get the best job of all. I work specifically on projects that help the youth of Peru become well rounded, healthy, successful people, as well as active members and leaders in their community. I’ll be working within the schools and also partnering with people in the community to complete projects that focus on the Youth Development Program’s three goals:

1. Promote healthy lifestyles (i.e. Nutrition, hygiene, HIV/AIDS prevention, etc)
2. Development in the world of work (i.e. Goal setting, planning for the future, etc)
3. Develop leadership and participation within the community (i.e., Big Brother/Big Sister programs, trash clean-up, community service, etc)

I will also be teaching English, as Spanish is the main language of Peru and many people within my community really want to learn English.

Since I am a volunteer I do not have a regular 9 to 5 job like many people in the U.S. I make my own schedule and work when the people in my community can work with me. This means some days I may only work a few hours, but other days I could be working up to 10 or more hours. On the other hand, being a Peace Corps Volunteer is a 24 hour 7 day a week job in itself-- I am representing the U.S. and therefore must always be at my best behavior. Being a volunteer anywhere else means you are working for free, but since I need to eat and have somewhere to sleep, the Peace Corps pays me a small stipend that covers my housing/transportation/food costs. I live with a Peruvian host-family and spend time with them and eat meals with them like I would my own family back home. While my host-mom knows some English, I only speak in Spanish with my host-family and the people I meet in the community. Even with a minor in Spanish I am still learning the language, so sometimes it is difficult to communicate and there are situations where I don’t understand what people are saying. But people are patient and kind, and I always find a way to get my point across.

Peru shares it´s borders with Ecuador, Columbia, Brazil, Bolivia, and Chile

There are 24 departments in Peru, the same way there are 50 states in the U.S.
Lambayeque is the small pink department in the north.

Joining the Peace Corps was no easy decision and it was something I had been thinking about doing for four-years before I actually applied. The application process was a year-long and I had no idea where in the world I would be sent. I could’ve been sent to Eastern Europe, Africa, Asia, or other areas of Central/South America. I think I’m pretty lucky to have been sent to Peru. I’ve only been here three-months so far and I still have a long time left (as my whole service is a 27-month commitment) but I’ve already had many experiences I’ll remember the rest of my life.

One of the streets in the town I live in;
you can see some moto-taxis that are
commonly used for transportation.

I hope you guys are enjoying the start to your new school year and I look forward to keeping in touch with you as the year continues on. It does not feel like long ago that I was in your shoes, so while it may seem like forever before you start high school, get your drivers license, or graduate high school, remember time flies and enjoy the time you have in junior high. Make this year a year to remember!

You´re hot then you´re cold

Disclaimer: As I’ve talked about earlier, during training we discussed “filters” and how our perceptions are created and effected by our upbringing/culture/religion/etc. So while I am fully aware I am making these comments through the filter of a girl from the PNW of the USA, and that I am generalizing a bit because I have not met every-single Peruvian, these are some observations I want to share. These are just my experiences, I’m not talking for everyone, and I do not mean to portray Peru in a negative light. Take ‘em or leave ‘em.

Probably one of the hardest parts of adapting to a new culture is dealing with contradictions and finding a way to make sense of how everything fits in the scheme of things. Here are some contradictions I’ve noted through my time here.

There’s something in the [cold] water.

Peruvians have different beliefs involving the temperature of water and its effect on the body. Drinking cold beverages makes you sick. However, cold showers are good for you. Most people don’t have access to hot showers, so it only makes sense that they don’t think cold showers are bad because that would mean they were always doing something that would make them sick. While I am lucky to live with a host family that does not believe cold showers are good for you, from what some Peruvians have said to me, as well as stories from other volunteers, I have found this much to be true:

Cold water inside the body = bad :(

Cold water outside the body = good :)

Communication

Peruvians are notorious for beating around the bush. They are not confrontational, and they do not take negativity well. You don’t say “no” in this country, you say “yes” and then don’t follow through. It’s rude to say no.

You can ask a Peruvian if they are interested in coming to a presentation or if they want to join you in doing an activity and they will say yes with a smile and assure you they will be there. A lot of times they aren’t. They didn’t want to be rude and tell you they didn’t want to come or they had something else to do. Same goes for giving directions; they’d rather give you the wrong directions than tell you they don’t know how to get there. And as I’ve said before, we’ve had entire charlas on how to turn down food nicely, which mostly consists of telling a lie of some sort to get out of eating whatever they’re offering, all with a big grin on your face.

So, with all of this indirect communication and white lies to make people feel better about food or missing a meeting, it is interesting to me that personal appearance does not fall under this category.

For example, the following conversation I had with my host cousin:

Cousin: You’re having a baby?

Me: What?

Cousin: A baby, you’re having a baby?

Me: ….I’m not pregnant.

Cousin: Oh. You look like it.

As I’ve said before, they say it as they see it, and they don’t spare any exaggeration. Fat, thin, ugly, weird; there are no limits. I cut my own hair, and when my host sister found this out she stated, “Next time you need to go to a professional.”

Real men dance

One cultural difference that I am a big fan of is the amount of dancing men do. While it is a machismo culture, a “man’s world”, and calling someone gay or homosexual isn’t only offensive but dangerous, they sure as hell love to dance. Every Peruvian knows at least three to four types of dances such as salsa, cumbia, marinera, or huayno, and choreographed modern dances are equally as popular.  It’s not just acceptable for men to be good dancers, it’s expected.

Jesus, Mary, and huevos

Like most of Latin America, the majority of Peruvians are Catholic. Jesus is everywhere-- schools, tiendas, living rooms, and kitchens—and so are saints and the Virgin Mary. I grew up Catholic, so I’m familiar with many of their beliefs. They definitely celebrate and practice the religion with a certain fervor I did not witness growing up, but they are pious people. What interests me most about their beliefs is how it is coupled with traditional Peruvian rituals. Many if not all of the Peruvians I’ve met have complete belief in Tarot readings, astrology, ghosts, shaman, and old healing practices.

A well-known ritual performed to discover what ails the ill involves an egg and a glass of water. The ill person sits or lies down, and another person (either a shaman or someone knowledgeable in the practice) rubs an egg all over the ill person’s body. After a thorough rub down, the egg is cracked into the glass of water where the yolk, egg white, and bubbles are inspected. Depending on the amount of bubbles at the top of the glass and the position of the yolk in the water, the person performing the ritual can divine what is wrong with the ailing.

This same ritual can be performed with a cuy (guinea pig). A live cuy is rubbed all over the persons body, then cut open and the intestines are inspected. The answers lie in what the cuy does while it’s being rubbed on the person and the condition of its intestines.

There are other rituals as well, which include reading coca leaves, tea leaves, incense, cigarettes, holy water, and flower petals.

Many of these rituals are taken very seriously by both devout Catholics and educated people. What interests me most is that Catholics can have some belief in these rituals without being blasphemous. As I recall, there were a lot of teachings against seers, fortunetellers, and anything pagan in nature. I felt it was made clear there was no room to have belief in both. And that doesn’t just go for Catholics, but other Christians who do things like say Harry Potter is of the devil or refuse to celebrate Halloween (one of my favorite holidays, by the way).

I don’t condone gutting an animal while it’s alive to figure out why someone’s stomach hurts, but I like this dual characteristic of Peruvians quite a bit. While their superstitions sometimes baffle me, I find other aspects endearing. The other night the power went out and all of my host family gathered in one room around a candle telling ghost stories. Only they weren’t “stories”, they were spoken as complete fact. I can’t do that with many people back home, but here you’ll be hard pressed to find someone who doesn’t believe in ghosts. Also, my regional capital is home to one of the largest “witch-doctor” markets in Peru (which for some bizarre reason I have yet to visit) where you can buy natural medicine, anything you need to make your own healing brew, or visit a shaman for a spiritual cleansing.

From what I gather, Peruvians find our customs and culture just as bizarre and entertaining. Like moving away from home at the age of 18 instead of staying with your parents until you marry, only having one last name instead of two (both parents last names) and a wife changing her last name to be the same as her husbands, our choice of foods, our lack of dancing skills, etc. However, each volunteer is acting as an ambassador to the U.S., and because we are for the most part just one person alone in our site, we are the most bizarre people they have ever met. And yet at the same time, they just want to be near to catch a glimpse of someone with lighter eyes, hear a different accent, or learn more about a foreign country so far away and strange. It´s like being a celebrity and a sideshow freak at the same time. Even the issue of where I stand in this country has its duality and contradictions. 

My part of Perú

I have so many things I want to tell you about, and yet I haven’t even described my site. Well, let’s change that and start from the beginning. 

My first day driving to my site I was in the back of a van that functions as a colectivo between my site and the regional capital. We passed through the capital, passed through a couple outlying towns, and within 25 minutes we were in the middle of nowhere. Or at least it felt like it. I sat slightly in shock because all I could see for miles was sand.  On the left was sand, trash, and a couple dry, jagged volcanic looking mountains. To the right, flat, endless stretches of sand only periodically marked with dunes. Beyond the sand is actually the ocean, but from where I was sitting you can’t tell where the sand ends and the ocean begins. It’s just nothingness for forever. Now, if I were raised in Middle America back in the U.S., or maybe had even visited such states, this sight maybe wouldn’t be so startling. But I’m a mountain girl; I get uneasy when the land is flat. I need the mountains to hug in close. I feel vulnerable out there in the open, the wind battling the van and mirages playing tricks on the eyes.

“What do you think?” my host mom asked, sitting next to me in the van. I was probably making that face I always make when I’m thinking. My mid-brow creases and I have a look that is a mixture of confusion and annoyance, regardless of what’s on my mind.

I fumbled with a choppy response, knowing everyone in the van had their head cocked to hear what the gringa would say. “I didn’t know very much about Lambayeque before I got here,” I said. “So, I didn’t know what to expect. I didn’t know there was desert.”

The Panamerican highway--only paved road in my town.

Ten minutes went by. Not long, but long enough for me to wonder just how desert my new home would be. Just as I started to think it would never end, I see green in the distance. Lots of green. And suddenly we came upon palm trees, fields of corn, sugar cane, and other fruits or vegetables I’m sure I haven’t even tried yet. My site is an oasis in the desert. It is still dry and dusty, but it is surrounded by chakras (farms).  The panamerican highway was what we were drove to get here, and it actually runs right through the middle of my town. In fact, it’s the only paved road in my entire town, and it’s right out my front door. My town has a population of 4,000, and one inicial (like preschool) one primaria (like elementary school, grades 1-5) and one segundaria (jr high and high school combined). The size is closer to Salmon, Idaho, but has less stores and only a couple restaurants, like my hometown of Challis. 

My house is nice and my family is pretty progressive. As is customary in Peru, especially these parts, my house is made of concrete, adobe and brick. The first thing I noticed when I walked in my new home for the next two years (aside from the “Welcome Amanda” banner on the wall) is they have two flat-screen TV’s with Playstation 3’s hooked up to both of them. This confused the hell out of me. I have friends who were sent to Ancash where they don’t even have a toilet or shower, and I am sent to a site where my house doesn’t just have one, but two gaming systems? I was starting to think I had exited Peru. But then I found out they aren’t really there for the family. One of the family members had visited the States and bought them, and now they charge kids on the hour/per game to come and play them. That’s right—my house is like the local arcade. My living room is almost always filled with teenage boys. I have a feeling this will come in handy in the future.

Part of my room along with my banner.

The kitchen is basically open air, save for a thin plastic roof and screen ceiling to keep the bugs out. We are still in winter right now, and it is in the mid 70’s everyday. It is supposed to get over 100 F in the summer.

My room is enormous. I have a couch and a chair in it, and I still have enough floor space to work out or work on projects. My floor is cement/dirt though, and I’m still trying to figure out the best way to keep things clean. Their method is to mop with petroleum. Haven’t quite adopted it for myself yet.

Part of my house is still under construction, but there is an upstairs that mostly consists of my parent’s bedroom. Everyone has a TV in their room (normal small TV’s—no flat screens) except for me, and my host family asked if I was going to put one in mine. I said no, but they don’t know I have tons of movies to watch on my computer.

I am the most spoiled Peace Corps Volunteer in the history of time.

I’m not supposed to use real names when talking about people, but that’s going to get real confusing real fast, so I don’t think first names will hurt. I have a host mom (Jackie), host dad (Victor), host sister who is 20 (Janmarie) and married (Manuel) with a 16-month-old baby (Luanna), an 18-year-old host brother (Victor Jr), and a 16-year-old host sister (Maricielo). My host mom is basically the person who really pushed to get a volunteer in my town, which makes sense that she would be the one to offer to house me for the next two-years. She is a high school English teacher, and she is pretty active in the community. My host dad used to be a PE teacher, and now he has a night job, which I still don’t fully understand. Janmarie and Luanna live in the house with us right now, and her husband works out of town on the weekdays and comes home on the weekends. She does most of the cooking in the house since she is a stay at home mom and everyone else is running around busy. Victor Jr is also only home on the weekends, as he attends University in a different town. As I said, my family is pretty progressive, and everyone shares in the chores of the house. When my host brother is home on the weekends he cleans up in the kitchen and sweeps the floors. I’ve even seen him cooking. My host dad does a lot of cleaning, and he gets back from work at 6:00 am so depending on the day he’ll make breakfast in the morning for everyone. It’s not typical for both genders to share in household chores, as Peruvians are more traditional with women doing domestic work, and men working out of the house.

To say the least, I am having a very different experience than a lot of other people. I have hot water in my shower. My family has a computer with internet (even though it’s so slow I want to punch the screen sometimes) and a printer. And, something I recently discovered, my host family has an “at home gym”. I think they are the only Peruvians with dumbbells and aerobic steps. As I said, most spoiled PCV. Ever.

This is my own little slice of Peru. All of my compañeros were spread out along the coast of Peru, so some are in the mountains eating guinea pigs and speaking Quechua, while others are having experiences more like mine. Peru has so many extreme differences in geography, climate, traditions, and languages; there is no way for me to describe Peru in these blogs. I will only be able to tell you about my little town in this incredible country.

And while I have things like water, electricity, internet, etc, (God, I feel spoiled listing all of that out) it doesn’t mean I am not experiencing other extreme cultural differences—au contraire. Some of my best stories have yet to come. But while I can’t wait to riddle this blog with ridiculous anecdotes and observations, I hope one theme will stand true; that regardless of all of our cultural differences, we do have a lot in common.