usted no tiene salda suficiente....

The last month of work has been a hectic mix of phone calls, trips, meetings, excel spreadsheets and more meetings. At times I've been exhausted and frustrated, but the mere fact that I can make phone calls, set up and attend meetings and just sort of generally deal with things, independently and in Spanish, makes me happy beyond reason. Recharging my cell every 3 days is a pain, but having my days full of conversations and meetings is amazing. I go to the municipality. I go to schools. I go to community assemblies. I go to chicherias to talk to community presidents about their switch to organic agriculture. I like it.

The project that I was previously doing surveys for in Yanahuara has hit a major block, in that we lost the donation that was going to supplement the crops grown by the school with other food needed to constitute healthy school lunches. On a personal level, this broke my heart a little bit, as I had been spending so much time in the community and wanted to badly to be able to build with them something concrete.To maintain good relations and also because we love working there, Yasmine and I offered to run a little camp for the kids at the end of school, something fun for them and for us. The school loved the idea, and also asked us to teach some English, so all this week Yasmine and I spent full days at the school playing english Bingo and Simon Says. I have friends from Korea to thank for a slightly less gruesome modification of Hangman (where a poor guy falls off a cliff, slowly descending into the jaws of a waiting alligator) which was the week's hit. 

As to the issue of school lunches, I had been trying for a week to contact the manager at one of Urubamba's most expensive hotels, to follow up on a co-worker's meetings and see if the hotel could help us out with monthly donations of food. On Thursday I finally just went to the hotel, and after fifteen minutes of discussion with the security officer, was led towards her office. Our meeting was brief, but she agreed that the hotel could help and told me to come back in January, after consulting our nutritionist, with a list of the foods needed and she would supply them. Success! 

Lady troubles.

Today, November 9th, is the official Day of Urubamba. The central plaza was taken over by children who marched around the square, school by school, over the long and hot midday hours. The side streets were filled by benches and women selling food and chicha (a fermented corn alcohol) from tinny pots. Yasmine and I were determined to get through a cup each but opted for the variety fermented with strawberries, hoping it would cut the almost starchy taste. We sat down on a bench and had a chat with one of the many adorable senior men I have met in Peru. He opened the conversation by asking me for the time, but 3 beers and some conversation later, admitted it was just a ploy to open up the conversation. Aww.

Unfortunately, the amiable grandfather demographic was soon dwarfed by the drunken and middle-aged. We quite literally got swarmed by men, offering us more beer and letting the odd hand fall on a thigh or knee, or move to brush hair away from our eyes. One of them, not the most but also not the least aggressive, was someone we work with frequently. Typical women, Yasmine and I both tend to get angrier in defence of each other than in defence of ourselves, but eventually we agreed we had to ditch.

Later we discussed where we had gone wrong, and agreed that in the future we would have to be more assertive. For me its hard, especially as a foreigner, to be mean to people, and the line between returning a polite hello and seeming open to advances sometimes doesn't exist. I love random conversations, I love being outside, and I hate the idea that we can only stop for a drink if Dave is with us. I'm sure that in Canada my gender mediates my behaviour in all sorts of ways, but here I have to continuosly and consciously remind myself of my status as a señorita, and a foreign (and therefore easy) one at that.

In some ways it makes my job easier, like when we do surveys our gender may encourage women to feel more comfortable inviting us into their homes. Mostly, though, its a hassle, and one that my Canadian upbringing and education hasn't really equipped me to deal with.... a fact I'm grateful for, when I stop to consider.

Swing.

Our intention this morning was, like yesterday, to wake up at 6 am and be in the community around 7 to catch people before they left for the fields. Unfortunately (or very fortunately?) Wednesday night is the most happening party night in Urubamba (mostly because everyone leaves for Cusco on the weekends) so we decided we owed it to ourselves to hit Club Tequila. 


We didn't end up leaving the house until 8 this morning, and had a frustrating time trying to track down the people we needed for our surveys. The sun was boiling, and the faint red undertone I've been sporting recently upgraded to a light burn. We trudged from house to house, Yasmine taking charge of brandishing rocks at dogs, with little success. Just when we were ready to give up we found a house with a beautiful front garden, and stopped to tell the owner how lovely it was even though he wasn't eligible for our survey (no kids in the elementary school). He invited us in and before I knew it I was being pushed on a home made rope swing beside a duck pond. We laughed like kids, partly because swinging is an awesome activity and partly because we couldn't believe the whimsical turn our day had taken. 

Doing these surveys with Yasmine has really been a gift. We go when we think we can find the most people, we make our own schedule based on our flimsy understanding of the village layout, and we get to do things like play with babies and help women strip down thin branches for basket weaving. We get offered food, and always have a beautifully woven blanket spread out over rocks or stools before we sit down. Now when we arrive in the morning we exchange greetings and kisses and waves with the people who allowed us (strangers) into their homes just the day before. When we say goodbye we promise to see them at this Saturday's general assembly, and when they tell us how delicious the peaches will be in January, I can say I'll be around to taste them.

gameface.

I had an off day on Thursday. It was my job to buy entrance tickets for Machu Picchu, and instead of strolling 10 minutes from the Plaza to the station I got lost and ended up scrambling along rocks between the river and the train tracks for almost an hour. I finally emerged at the back of the station through a thicket of brambles, much to the surprise of both passengers and crew. Tickets purchased, I got back on the bus to Urubamba, met Yasmine for coffee and was finished with lunch before I realized that somewhere after buying the tickets my wallet had disappeared, taking with it my rent money, the cash for Machu Picchu and my reserve fund of US dollars, not to mention my driver's licence, SIN card, 2 debit cards, 3 credit cards and Canadian citizenship card. Plus, I really liked that wallet. I bought it in Hong Kong, for full price while Aaron wasn't looking.

I spent friday morning alternating between crying on the phone with my mom and calling to cancel cards. Luckily Ana arrived that night, and we put our gamefaces on and left for Aguas Calientes. Machu Picchu is probably the only thing that could have successfully taken my mind off how screwed I am, and I'm grateful for it. There's something comforting about ruins, especially when they look like this:

Sound the alarm.

I looked over at Yasmine and seriously considered making a medium funny joke about how she should, in true Yasmine style, be taking pictures of us looking exhausted and frazzled in the early hours of the morning. The atmosphere in the car was tense, though, and I figured that if the mudslides did turn into a tragedy I would regret saying anything, so I kept quiet along with everyone else as we drove towards Ollantaytambo and away from the overflowing lagoon. In the front seat were Yovana, her son Joel and her partner Luis. When we arrived in Ollantay Maricarmen, our director, begged them to stay with us in the hotel but Yovis just laughed, said goodnight and drove back to Urubamba.

We stayed in a nice hotel and at around 3am, as we were listlessly sitting around the room wondering if we should go to bed, Yasmine snapped a couple of photos and we all laughed. Everything is really fine in Urubamba, though the river is gushing with unusually brown and silty water and a few streets have traces of mud and small debris. Although she is staying here, Mari is worried about more rain and more mud, and the legal issues associated with injured foreigners. She was so upset last night that I buckled to social pressure and said yes when she asked us to please stay in Cusco for couple of days, even though I think it's unnecessary.  In a few hours, then, we will head to higher ground and spend a few days eating tourist homefoods and lazing around coffee shops while every other Urubambian goes about their daily lives with slightly damp feet.

Cuncani

We did the farthest houses first, climbing up a hillside full of buried potatoes at around 7 am. At each house  I sat as Ian and our Quechua translator, Juana, slowly gathered the information necessary for our needs assessment. By the end of the day we had only completed 10 surveys, and I was exhausted and sunburned to a fairly ridiculous extent. The village pooled together animal skins for us to sleep on, and we passed out on our beds of llama by 8 pm.

The next day there was a town meeting, and during its lunch break we were able to gather groups of people to interview. Most people under 40 spoke better Spanish than I do, and we trudged through the questions with occasional help from the translators, who were busy running between clusters of people spread across the field. I felt ridiculous fairly often; certain questions, like "what do you like about your village?" where met with blank stares or laughter. Going through a checklist of food and hearing no to vegetables, no to meat, no to fish and no to milk, and realizing the widow you are interviewing literally only eats potatoes, made me feel like an asshole for asking in the first place.

I hope that the information we gathered will be useful and that we will be able to design and implement a project with the ability to do some good. Right now, we are in Cuncani's debt- for the village's hospitality, patience and kindness towards us, as well as a delicious sheep and about 400 potatoes.

Villa Marcelo Garden Project

Villa Marcelo is a primary school, accessed by a sharp right turn off of the paved highway 25 minutes north of Urubamba. I had met Hector, the school's director and 5th grade teacher, at a meeting to discuss the agricultural project being implemented in his school. The next day we stood in the greenhouse built in the back corner of the grounds, staring at a one-square-foot hole dug into the earth. It took a minute for me to understand that the missing soil was a sample, sent to an agricultural lab. The results aren't so fantastic; a heavy coating of humous is needed before the anticipated strawberries or tomatoes can be planted.



The greenhouse is part of a larger project which has two interconnected target areas: education and health. It aims to improve academic performance and attendance by giving children lunches at school, and to improve the overall health of children and families through an increased understanding of nutrition.

Peru is ranked as one of the worst countries in the world based on educational performance. A staggering 85% of citizens between the ages of 18-45 lack a sufficient education for joining the skilled workforce.  Concerning nutrition, between 8 and 29% of children in Urubamba are chronically malnourished, and between 63 and 89% have iodine and/or iodine deficiency, which can cause a serious reduction in learning capabilities.

In an effort to combat these problems, students will participate in managing the school's garden and, in the process, learn the basic principles of healthy eating. The school lunches prepared with these products will provide an incentive for families to send their children to school and help the students to concentrate better in class. Pictured below are two fields owned by Villa Marcelo which, in conjunction with the greenhouse, will provide the project's food. In the field pictured on the right, corn planted in September has already broken the surface.


Participation from the community is necessary to transform the agricultural products into meals, but also to ensure that the nutritional lessons can be applied at home. Helping parents integrate healthy practices into daily routines means that younger children, in their earliest and most formative years, will also receive better nutrition. Parents will be invited to informative meetings and cooking classes, and mothers are volunteering to prepare and serve the lunches on a rotational basis.

In a nearby town a similar project was instigated by an NGO who, also recognizing the link between nutrition and education, wanted to pay to provide school lunches. Problems arose when other community members asked to be fed, and when the funding stopped the project disappeared. Villa Marcelo is determined to take a different approach. Prefacing the lunches with nutritional education, having students create their own food in a sustainable garden, and involving community members and families in the project are all means to ensure its longterm effectiveness.

After insisting I say hello to every class and taking me to look at the lunchroom (above left) where meals will eventually be served, Hector walked me to the school gate. Having rested at the end of the line, the bus was to ready to return to Urubamba.

Urubamba

Urubamba is a fantastic word to say out loud, a small town sandwiched between mountains and a river, and my new home.

I'm living in a large house with two other volunteers and two project managers who are here on a permanent basis. The house is a mix of the modern (wireless internet), the rustic (gas oven manually lit with matches) and the confused (a scalding shower that lacks the pressure to add cold water).  There is a woman, Yovana, who comes to cook us lunch and clean the house, but I'm at least back to doing my own dishes and making my own bed. Plus, this is what I wake up to every morning:

The town sits at about 3048 metres above sea level, but despite being prairie-grown, I haven't had any problems. It's only been a few days since I arrived so I'm slowly settling in, getting into my project, meeting people and generally setting the tone for the next 5 months. It's as close to permanency as I can get, and it feels full of promise.

Hasta luego, Lima.

It was a satisfying feeling, to add the last ridiculously named health food store to my database of potential international buyers and send the document off. It's nice to think that someone might actually have use of it. Our entrepreneurs have some great products, especially the roasted sacha inchi nuts and aguaymanto jams, which could hopefully find solid markets in international health/gourmet food stores.

Next it was time to say goodbye to the co-workers that made me so feel welcome at the NeVos office. We had happy hour pisco sours in Larco Mar, the shopping mall perched on Lima's ocean side cliffs, before heading to San Isidro, where everyone gamely posed for this photo.

On Saturday morning the house maid, Maria, helped me read a newspaper article announcing the closure of the airport in Cusco due to violent protests against a government project to divert the region's water to the south of Peru. I was worried about my flight on Monday morning, but by the time I arrived in Cusco there was no trace of protesters and, in compensation for the interruption of service, a tourist appreciation day was being held. I got some delicious chocolates, kitsch souvenirs and a dance show to alleviate the boredom of staring at a rotation of suitcases in the baggage claim area.

Saying goodbye to Liz, my co-intern/interpreter/Spanish tutor/late night chat partner, was sad. I'll miss the luxury of working next to a Starbucks, the yappy dog who only recently stopped barking at my entrances, and Maria making fun of me each and every time I put milk in my tea.

Trujillo

Whenever Liz and I mentioned that we were traveling north to Trujillo people shook their heads and told us to be careful, usually following up with a story of a distant relative being robbed by a taxi driver or falling victim to another crime. As seems to always be true of my life in Peru, we were put up in a hotel in the cleanest, safest part of town and had no problems.





We were there to meet with the different businesses supported by
Idea Tu Empresa, who work jointly with our host organization Nexos Voluntarios (NeVos). The businesses are all very small scale, but it was exciting to listen to the entrepreneurs talk about their future plans and visions for their enterprises.



This woman has a stall where she sells used clothes that come from Canada, the US, and Europe. The clothes are apparently donated, but by the time they reach the wholesale markets in Peru each bag costs around 400 USD, leaving her only a slim profit margin. Orlando, the man on her left, is in charge of the projects in Trujillo.



This man co-operatively owns a large convenience store and bakery with five of his siblings. They sell anything you could want, and rent out the large second floor for parties. Their goal is to expand the baking side of their business and redesign the store, making more space for people to sit and eat. The project has helped him purchase a new oven, allowing for a larger quantity and variety of baked goods.


Of course, I spent a large portion of these meetings concentrating on the rapidly spoken Spanish. I perfected a facial expression to communicate "yes, I am interested, but please don't ask me to say anything". It's incredibly frustrating to understand a conversation but not have the skill to participate, like hearing the music and laughter of a party you weren't invited to. I really hope that once I get out of Lima (next week!), start my Spanish classes and spend less time with English speakers, my speaking will have a chance to catch up with my comprehension.

My first cumpleaños.

Last week, in the mountain town of Huaraz, I celebrated my 24th birthday by hiking from pre-Incan ruins to a natural hot spring, and capped the day off with tri-lingual conversations and home-made coca beer.

Thanks, Liz!

Mistura Food fair, Lima

A workday spent wandering a gourmet food fair is a workday well spent. I don't know how many business contacts I made, though I did pick up a few business cards to add to the office collection, which should count for something.

Granadilla (pictured above) was my favourite discovery; it reminded me of a citrus pomegranate with edible seeds.

I arrived in Lima on Sunday, August 29th. It took me an hour to find the man holding the whiteboard sign with "Julia Vanderham" carefully printed in capitals. We spent the ride through Lima discussing our respective names (first, middle, catholic, maternal and paternal), and Luis- Carlo kindly let me feel that my phrasebook Spanish was filling up a conversation.

My temporary Lima home is crowded with paintings and antique tack, and the backyard is filled with wild vegetation and a drained swimming pool. I spend a lot of time confusing the maid with my muddled Spanish and my awkward resistance to being served.

At work, I wear buttoned up shirts. I make excel spreadsheets, and read business plans. Our office helps small businesses get the financing and training they need to be successful, so sometimes I sit in on meetings with the entrepreneurs and by patching together the words and phrases I actually understand I can catch at least the gist of what goes on around me. Being in a business environment is more shocking than being in Peru. I never thought "equity" and "driving market forces" would be phrases I'd use in English, much less Spanish, but here I am, researching how to break into foreign markets.