¡Hola Cusco!

Alphabetized.

Perhaps I was never made to work in the field, perhaps I am not the right person with not enough patience and not enough skill to do international development long-term, but my experience in Cusco was still…

Inspiring?

Trying?

Wonderful?

It was still - it was still beautiful and imperfect and all of the above.

I walked into La Casa Acogida Virgen de la Natividad (the girls’ shelter I was volunteering at) on my first day completely clueless as to what my role was going to be. I started teaching English on a whim (Director: What are you going to do? Me, mentally flailing for an answer: I guess I’ll teach English, I mean, I’m pretty good at that…), with no idea how to teach a group of seven teenage girls with zero knowledge of English whatsoever.

We started with the alphabet, and ended as a family.

I lost three girls in my first week - Paulina, Maritza, and Cliseth, as they were all released to their families and/or turned 18 and chose to leave the shelter. I remember very well turning up for work, bouncing on the balls of my feet, ready for a lesson on numbers and telling time, and encountering all my students engaged in sobbing and hugging Paulina, who was about to leave. I had to bite my lip a few times as I comforted a wailing Lourdes - this is what it must be like to lose a sister. 

During my second week, the group filled back up, with newcomers Yuly and Marina, alongside Merli, (another) Maritza, Marleni, Aide, and Lourdes. Some days we did lessons, some days we took pictures and videos on my itouch, some days we played volleyball or danced or sang or just talked. In the end, teaching English didn’t really matter. Of course I’d be very pleased if they remembered some of the English I taught them after I left, but I realized partway through my time in Peru that it was more important that the girls be left with a vision and inspiration for a future - a successful, happy future, one that they controlled and that they created. Living in the shelter with hardly any structure, complacency was tolerated.

So, I was strict. I made my girls pay attention. I tested them, I wheedled them into trying harder and harder, I commanded them to switch seats or stop whispering when I or anyone else was talking. But I had to balance that with kindness and compassion - we played plenty of games, watched movies, baked cakes, etc. I printed photos for them and handed out chocolate, and some days we had class outside.

On my second to last day at work, my friend Mika came with me to observe my project. I brought the peanut M&M’s that Steve had given me for the girls, and my DSLR to take photos of our last real day together. Mika and I stayed for almost an extra hour, playing around with the girls. I taught Merli how to use my camera. We played “Head, Shoulders, Knees and Toes” and Telephone and another game, similar to it. Standing in a circle with my students on the cracked cement courtyard in the early evening light, giggling and laughing and generally behaving like middle school girls, I knew I was changed from this experience. I can’t tell you how - it wasn’t anything particularly noticeable - but it’s there. I feel different. I cried for an hour on my favorite empty balcony at Amauta after my last day because I knew I was different, and I knew that I had a life and family and friends to come back to in the States, while my girls - my seven little sisters - were still stuck, sitting, waiting, wishing for something new.

I said it once and I’ll say it again: We started with the alphabet and ended as family.

I am so blessed. I am so, so blessed.

Limits.

I am quite tired, but the coffee and pan de chocolate that I had this morning at a bakery near the plaza is keeping me awake, at least for now. I got back to Cusco at around 4:30 this morning and, after brushing my teeth for a full ten minutes, got into bed and fell asleep at around 5:30. I purposely slept through breakfast at the hostel and took yet another freezing cold shower (why do I always get stuck without hot water??) that seemed colder than usual - it actually started to hurt when the water touched my skin. But no matter! Cusco is already beginning to get in the mood for this Thursday, which is Peru’s Independence Day. There’s been obnoxious loud fireworks and military music and parades in the street all morning, which is funny because no one is really out and about here until at least 10, and I was in the plaza at around 9 this morning and it was very full.

I think I’m starting to feel more at home here. It’s definitely not the same as León, Nicaragua, a city that I consider another home. Maybe it’s because Cusco is so full of tourists, but the city doesn’t seem to sit as well with me. It’s a lovely place to visit, and I do feel like I’m visiting, despite the fact that I’m working here, but it’s not comfortable. It still feels a little bit cold (figuratively and literally…) to me. I haven’t become especially close to any of the other students and volunteers here, but I’m hoping that with the arrival of the new travelers in the hostel I’ll be able to make some really meaningful connections. I did feel like I was getting close to some people, but now they’re in the Sacred Valley for the week and/or they’ve flown out already.

Regardless, I’m here to learn, I suppose. I’m here to work and serve and do a bit of traveling, practice my Spanish and be independent. It’s happening, too - my Spanish is definitely much better, though I still have some trouble understanding my students when they speak fast or in a Quechuan accent. I spend a lot of time wandering around by myself, too, and I’m slowly learning my way around Cusco.

I’m learning more about what I’m capable of and what I think I’d be happy doing. It might come as a shock to some people who know me, but I’m growing less and less sure about whether I could ever do Peace Corps or some kind of rural international development program for a long period of time. Maybe it depends on where I’d be stationed, but after Saturday on the sparsely populated Amantaní island on Lake Titicaca, I’ve seriously been doubting whether I’d be happy living somewhere extremely rural attempting to create a development program in the field. I think I can manage traveling and doing some volunteering and teaching for maybe a month or two at a time, but I don’t think I could live for two years in a random village teaching English and building wells, regardless of how noble a pursuit that is. It’s just too…boring? Too quiet?

It’s strange but I miss politics. I miss feeling like I’m in the middle of a fast-paced world, which is something that International Relations and journalism do for me. I guess that kind of takes working in international development out of the picture. Human rights, maybe, I could do. But working in the field for years a time teaching or implementing development programs is a bit much for me. I am slightly disappointed in myself, to have realized that I am not in fact a Paul Farmer or Greg Mortenson or someone equally incredible, with the ability to live and work in the field of development. At the same time, I know that journalism and international politics and working to advance human rights are noble and worthy pursuits, but it is still a slight shock to have figured out one of my…limitations. I don’t get sick easily, I like being out of my comfort zone, I’m good with people and languages, and I can stomach practically anything you put in front of me and I don’t really mind being rather unhygienic situations - all traits I think would be necessary for working in the field. I think I am quite well-suited for traveling to out-of-the-way places. But I honestly don’t think I’d be happy working in development, and that is very, very weird for me. I’m glad that I have these next four weeks to really experience what it would be like, though, and to learn more about myself and what direction I think I’ll be going in the future.

¡Vamos a bailar!

I am currently sitting on my bed, munching on Sour Patch Kids with my hair put up in a messy bun. I am tired and exhilarated from the past couple of hours, but mostly exhilarated.

At 2:15 this afternoon I cleared up my place at the lunch table, printed out a copy of my CV and a letter stating my motivation for volunteering in Peru, picked up my map and headed down La Calle Suecia to catch a cab from the plaza to La Casa Acogida Virgen Natividad, the shelter where I’ll be working for the next five weeks. I would have walked, but the weather in Cusco today is cloudy and gray, with occasional rain.

“Para La Calle Grau, por favor. Tres soles, sí?”

As I shut the door to the taxi (which I forgot to check if it was a legitimate taxi or not) I had a distinct feeling that there would be no turning back - literally or figuratively, from this point on. We sat in silence the way down to La Calle Grau, past El Puente Grau (puente means “bridge”), past buildings that seemed distinctly shabbier than those surrounding the touristy area of La Plaza de Armas, the center of the city.

Finally I recognized the brown metal doors of Virgen Natividad - Aquí, por fav, gracias, tengo cinco soles, tienes cambio? - and I cautiously stepped inside and made my way through the courtyard, past lines of little boys from the orphanage that shares part of the building, through another set of doors. I wasn’t entirely sure where I was going, and I heard rapidly approaching footsteps behind me and swung around. There was Diana, the teacher who I met yesterday when I came to visit the project for the first time! She was laughing good-naturedly at me, gesturing at me to come through a different set of doors. Turns out I was about to go somewhere…random.

So I stepped into the courtyard of the girls’ shelter and immediately recognized a few faces. The girls rushed towards me, babbling with Diana in Spanish that I didn’t understand, and took my hands, introducing themselves enthusiastically, kissing my cheek. Podemos bailar? they eagerly asked Diana, who shrugged her shoulders and smiled. Marlí took my hand and ran into the little studio, with the other girls following us. Marlí and…Maritza, I think her name is, began to dance, with the rest of us giggling and watching, crammed together on a worn sofa. The girls asked me questions about the US, about California, whether I dance or not, and occasionally laid their head on my shoulder or made some other gesture of affection. This is after literally five minutes after meeting me. Of course after a little while they pretty much forced me to get up and learn a dance with them. Maritza appointed herself as my instructor, and showed me all the steps. I don’t think I’ve laughed the way I did with them in a very long time…I am blown away by the joy and companionship that these girls positively radiate towards each other and now towards me. I feel like their older sister - they are all around 15 or 16 years old, with one 17 and one 13. After we danced for almost 45 minutes, we stepped outside for a bit, and the girls crowded in a semi circle around me, quizzing me on my life. Do you have siblings? How many? How old is your sister? What is her name? Where do you live? Is the US cold or hot? Is it pretty? Do you have a boyfriend? How old are you? I said 19, and they all gasped in surprise. ¡Mentirosa! one breathed. No es posible! I don’t know if they thought I was older or younger than I actually am. They asked if I could teach them English. Of course I can teach them English, that’s my job! I gave a tiny impromptu lesson on the months of the year, a few commands, that sort of thing, before Marli asked for a song in English. Can you sing Katy Perry? Or Usher? Lady Gaga? I couldn’t help but laugh, telling them that I don’t know the words. Did they know Jason Mraz? La canción “I’m Yours” - o “Soy tuyo”? Sí sí sí, they responded enthusiastically. So I sang for them. And after that the requests kept coming. We moved back to the studio, and everyone crowded around the sofa to hear. I sang Ingrid Michaelson’s You and I, Bruno Mars’ Marry You, part of Adele’s Rolling in the Deep. I brought out my iTouch so they could choose songs to listen to, and that’s pretty much what we did for the rest of the time. We talked, laughed, sang, and listened to music. Porque no eres cantante?? Paulina asked, admiringly. I blushed. I felt kind of like a little kid at that point.

Something very important also occurred during this whole iTouch party. Maritza discovered some of my Pakistani music, and liked it, and asked whether I knew the Hindu language. I told the girls that my family is originally form Pakistan so I know some of Indian and Pakistani culture. They asked me, eyes wide, if I knew the Muslim language. I said I knew some Urdu, the language of Pakistan, and told Maritza that the song she was listening to was in Urdu. This is Muslim music? she asked, shocked. She looked a little nervous. Tengo miedo de los musulmanes. I am afraid of Muslims.

Really? I asked. I’m Muslim! This shocked all the girls even more - they asked me about the hijab, whether my mother wears a veil, etc. While they seemed taken aback at first, they seemed to decide that I was all right. I really, really hope that they realized that not all Muslims are terrorists. I think they did, at least a little bit.

Of course they ended up discovering the camera, and my iTouch is now completely out of battery and full of hilarious pictures and videos of all of us. These girls are just so, so sweet; I can hardly fathom it. They would take videos of each other, giggling like mad, waving and posing at the camera, and then turn it to me, announcing, “La belleza verdadera” and I just couldn’t help but fall a little bit in love with these girls.

Tomorrow I begin classes, and I’m decided to start with the alphabet and numbers. I’ll have to start planning my lesson tonight so that tomorrow I can go find paper and whatnot to help me teach.

Today was a good day.