Those Moments

Warning: This post is a little existential, and very moody.

I've been feeling a little weird in site ever since I got back from my unexpected trip home the States almost two weeks ago.  For those of you who don't know, my grandmother passed away-  I was in Lima for mid-service Medical Checks when I got the call from my mom, so I was able to have my passport and American credit card overnighted to me and I was on a plane at midnight the next day.  I feel incredibly thankful that I was able to be with my family at that time, because I am sure I would have felt terribly disconnected if I wasn't able to travel.

After a number of days in Boston with my mom's family, I was lucky enough to spend a few days at home in DC.  One day, I drove my mom's car out to my dad's house, where I grew up.  I brought my favorite salad from SweetGreen, stole a Magic Hat #9 beer from the fridge, and sat down to have what I thought would be a very happy and peaceful solo lunch on my back porch.

I grew up with the incredible privilege of having five acres of backyard.  In the middle of Northern Virginia McMansionville, this was incredibly unusual, and only in rare moments of my childhood did I really appreciate it fully.  But in a number of "soul-searching" moments, I vividly remember wandering off into the woods, and feeling incredibly awakened by the nature around me.

My magical backyard, view from the porch.  Five acres of nature.

As I finished my lunch, I became very aware of the sounds around me.  Bird songs, calls and responses, from left and right.  And acorns falling, hitting leaves on their way down.  They seemed to fall with such force, and I became very aware of how long it had been since I had heard these sounds.  There are no acorns in Monsefu.  More than anything, what I heard was a deafening silence.  Maybe it's because my town in Peru is always full of background noise, but the silence and peaceful nature of my backyard hit me like a wall.  This being my second time visiting home during Peace Corps service, I was familiar with the feeling of walking around in a "dream."  The life I left in the United States is incredibly comfortable and familiar, but somehow doesn't feel real anymore- it feels like one big dream.

But this time, in that moment of deafening quiet, I felt like I was being nudged awake.  Everyone says that the key to happiness in Peace Corps is keeping busy, so I always try my best to do so when I start to feel down.  I get myself engrossed in a new project, or I visit a friend, or I take a day-trip to Chiclayo.  But the deafening power of the nature in my backyard seemed to erase all the other noises in my head.  Suddenly I was left with nothing but myself and the falling acorns.  It was completely overwhelming.  I felt a deep alone-ness and a heaviness in my chest, as if I just realized that something was terribly wrong.  But it felt kind of "right" too.  I didn't know what to do.  I wanted to embrace this beautiful nature and explore this feeling more, but I didn't know how to interpret it, the feeling was just stuck.  I wanted to cry or do something, but the anxiety of feeling caught between two worlds just kept building.  Is this the most awake I've ever been, or have I completely lost touch with the world I loved?  The anxiety got the best of me and I had to get up and go inside.

Now that I think about it, I've had somewhat similar feelings of "mental pergatory" on occasion in Peru, usually when I'm thinking about going to sleep.  I've gotten into a strong habit of putting myself to sleep with TV episodes on my computer, and it's become such a habit that no matter the hour, I feel a deep need to watch something.  

I've also been experiencing some unusual jaw tension in the last few months.  Last month I was waking up with terrible headaches from clenching my jaw, but that has gone away.  It's been checked out by a dentist who said I was fine, but I might get a second opinion.  I know this probably all sounds like I've got some anxiety issues going on, and maybe I do or maybe it is a temporary funk.  A lot of Volunteers hit a big low-point around 1 year, because you come to the realization that with everything you've fought through and achieved over the past year, you've still got another year left.  I don't know exactly what is causing these existential feelings and jaw tension, but I know I'll be okay.  It's just hard to get out of a funk when my work is self-scheduled, and most of my current projects involve a lot of time on the computer.  I think that's the main issue, I haven't had much variety to my days recently and bad habits of sitting on Facebook for hours are getting reinforced.  I feel like I've done nothing but sit unproductively at my desk for the last two weeks.  I hope I don't end up regretting writing all of this out on a public blog, but I feel that Peace Corps Volunteers get a special "free pass" in being moody, and I did want to get this all out in writing.  Thanks for reading.  And thank you Robin Shirley for the very sweet care package :) 

Monsefu Faces: Roberto, Lorena and Margarita

In Lima with Lorena and Roberto, eating their first burritos

I'm thinking that a lot of my blogs from now on are going to be about the people who are most important to my experience in Monsefu.  Two of the most important people in my work and life in site right now are Lorena and Roberto.

Lorena is 25 (although she looks about 16) and Roberto is 23.  They are two of seven sons and daughters of a woman named Margarita.  She's an artisan woman who I met around March, when she joined an association for the first time.

Margarita dressed up in a traditional blouse, weaving her straw hat and selling ceviche

Margarita is truly from the world of "how things used to be" in Monsefu (and how they still are, in the poorest areas).  She grew up way out in the rural areas of the district, one of God-knows how many children.  What I do know is that her father wouldn't let her be educated, not even through primary school.  And she cried and cried about not being sent to school.  She told me that at the age of 15, she secretly started attending night classes, and only at that age did she learn to write her name.  Today, she reads well, but I have not seen her write.

In talking about her past, she mentioned "when one of the babies died."  It's somewhat common, especially from her generation, to hear about miscarriages and infants dying, but I was still afraid of the answer... how many babies did you lose, Margarita?  Six.  She has seven children that lived, and six that died.  Can you imagine that?  Roberto and Lorena are the youngest, so they never met those brothers and sisters, but they say some of them had names.  Maybe the others were miscarriages, but at least some of them were real, big, babies.  And their mother knows all of their birthdays.

One thing I still don't know enough about is how Margarita raised this family.  There was obviously a husband at some point, and when we were filling out some paperwork I found out that he is still alive in Lima.  She claimed (in the presence of a stranger) that he comes to visit every once in a while, but outside of that conversation I have never heard Margarita or her kids ever mention him.  Maybe he was around long enough to get the oldest kids into school, because I can't fathom that she and they were able to support themselves.  But, she did mention that she would weave straw hats (a traditional handcraft in Monsefú) at all hours of the night by candlelight, to get together enough for her kids' school fees.  Somehow, five or six out of the seven kids are studying or have higher education degrees (university or vocational college), and one just finished his master's degree.  Unbelievable how much can change in one generation.  I imagine that at this point, the kids support their mother financially, because she still spends her day weave straw hats and is just recently trying to become a "caterer" for weddings and other events.

If you're interesting in hearing a little bit more about the hat weaving process, watch this video.  The hats made in Monsefu can take multiple weeks to finish.

So, when I started my youth business plan class, I mentioned it to Margarita and she asked me to leave the information for her son, Roberto, who might be interested.  Roberto ended up not having enough time to attend class because he was in rehearsals for a dance competition, but Lorena showed up instead.  Her project was to help her brother Roberto open a dance academy where, in her words, "the youth of Monsefú can discover and develop the talents they carry inside them."  Although her attendance wasn't outstanding, she quickly distinguished herself as the student most serious about finishing her business plan.  She is currently studying Business Administration in a vocational college in Chiclayo.  In the end, Lorena was the only one to finish her business plan, out of about 10 youth that I had taught in 16 sessions of 2 hours each.  We spent many long nights crunching numbers to get the 30-page plan together, but she was determined to give her younger brother the opportunity to open this dance academy, which would benefit the at-risk youth of Monsefu.

Meanwhile, I got to know Roberto fairly well because Margarita convinced the Municipality to give him a spot as a Tourism intern.  He is easily one of the hardest-working people in the building, and the mayor pays him pennies.  He is still hoping they will employ him permanently, but he also has a very positive attitude about experience being valuable, whether it is paid or not.  He is receiving a degree in Tourism and Hotel Management from a vocational college in Chiclayo, where he studies on scholarship because he works as the choreographer of their dance group.  As far as I know he is completely self-taught in dance, from watching other people and videos, and has recently put together his own dance troupe (which he wants to expand into a dance academy, offering classes).  Here is the link to some videos from the dance troupe (I'm helping them upload performance videos to YouTube).

As my local winner, Lorena won the opportunity to present her business plan in the U.S. Embassy in Lima, competing with winners from other Peace Corps sites for financing of the projects.  We had enough money in the budget to bring a second person from site, so Roberto came.  I am so glad he did, because it turned out that he has amazing natural talent for pitching a business plan... or he has some other education that I don't know of.  Either way, we decided that Roberto would be involved in the presentation too, even though he didn't take the business plan course, because he would be the best person to answer questions about the academy.

Roberto and Lorena, presenting their business plan in front of a panel of judges and other Peace Corps Volunteers and their local winners, in the U.S. Embassy (August 2012) 

I was really nervous for their presentation, because it was hard to tell if Lorena truly grasped all of the financial analysis in the plan that we had written together, and her practice runs were very dry and memorized.  I was made doubly nervous when we were getting ready to leave for the embassy and I found her in jeans and a tube top, asking me if she should put a sweater on.  I tried to contain my shock and in the calmest voice I could manage I asked her, "I thought you said you brought something professional to wear?  Do you have anything else?"  Her only other option of shirt was a plaid button-down, and she told me that she didn't bring non-jean pants because she doesn't own any non-jean pants.  Well, I guess you can't get mad at that.  She managed to put together a very presentable outfit by borrowing my black leggings, which had to be rolled at least 6 times around her tiny waist, and my knit blouse which looked almost like a dress on her.  Problem solved!  We had the benefit of being the last of 7 projects to present in our group, so I passed her a couple of notes... things like "Listen to how dynamic he is, you can do that too!" and explanations of our complicated "equilibrium point," which she was struggling to understand clearly.  Right before they went up, Roberto leaned over to me and said "I'm going to open the presentation.  Don't start the slides until I am off the stage.  Got it?"

Little did I know what they had conspired.  Roberto gave a warm welcome to the audience and then asked them to clap out the same rhythm that he was clapping.  He started break-dancing.  Then he asked them to give him another rhythm- he salsa-ed for them.  Lastly, he showed a little traditional marinera from Monsefu.  Then he jumped off stage, pointed at me, and I started the opening music to our PowerPoint presentation.  Lorena took it away with fantastic energy, and the judges couldn't contain their comments and questions when we showed a video of the current rehearsal space.  I was on the verge of delirious giggles the whole time because I was so proud and blown away by them.

The overall quality of presentations in our group was amazing, so we were more than happy to win an honorable mention (second place) and Best Oral Presentation!  Also, now that we have a well-written business plan, I am very optimistic about the possibilities of finding financing elsewhere.

Accepting their certificates for Best Oral Presentation, with the Director of Peace Corps Peru (next to me) and the President of the American Chamber of Commerce in Peru.

One of the best parts of their presentation is that Margarita was able to be there to see it, along with an older son who lives in Lima.  She just kept repeating "I never thought I would see my children present something like this, in the American Embassy..."  That sounds very similar to what she said when I asked her to host lunch for a group of visiting Peace Corps Trainees in Monsefu- "I never thought I would serve lunch to a group of foreigners in my house, I feel so honored."  The things she "never imagined" keep adding up, because my new site-mate is now living in her house.  They were the family I recommended to Peace Corps as a host family for my site-mate, and it seems to be going well for all parties.

Not sure I can top a story like Margarita and her family in the next editions of "Monsefu Faces," but her story is somewhat characteristic of Monsefu.  She's not the first artisan woman who has told me that her father wouldn't let her go to school, and that now has multiple professional children.  The things women like her have lived through I will never be able to imagine, but I feel so lucky to hear her stories and experience her joy in seeing her children succeed.