It’s a jungle out there!

The hallway on the first floor of our house.

Having abandoned my nap, I sit here cross-legged on my bed, looking out the door of my bedroom into the small garden across the hallway. It’s raining today, and I can hear the soft rain fall from the strategic hole in the roof onto the plants outside my door. It’s one of my favorite things about my new home in the jungle – every time it rains, it literally rains inside, filling the house with the sound and smell of falling rain.

That’s right, as most of you are probably aware, I have finally moved to my new placement in Moyobamba – a quaint and charismatic Amazonian city in the Northern part of Peru. Although I have only been here roughly two weeks so far, I can already tell that this is a much better fit for me, physically, emotionally, gastrointestinally. My new host family will be a great match as well – I will be living with Ana and Jorge and their 11-month-old son Santiago, the cutest, happiest, most flirtatious baby I have ever met. I will be working at the non-profit Paz y Esperanza (Peace and Hope), where Ana works as a journalist and Jorge as the Director. They are both impressive and intelligent people, and we spend most of our dinners discussing Peruvian and U.S. politics, cultural differences, and Peru’s violent past.

The office of Paz y Esperanza

In addition to a better living situation, it appears that my job will be a much better match for me as well. Although we are still in the process of figuring out details, Jorge has told me that I will be able to contribute in many areas including environmental education of local children concerning the rainforest and conservation of water, working with our lawyer on issues of domestic and sexual abuse, helping by photographing events and archiving their current photos, and finally possibly writing articles (in English!) for their English publications. This is still fairly tentative because four university students have recently arrived from Spain and will also be volunteering in the office, so it remains to be seen exactly how we will all be working together. Needless to say, I am excited!

As far as the climate and my surroundings, it is beautiful here. The ever-present green is so comforting and familiar and is evident everywhere. Even the office of Paz y Esperanza is quite beautiful. To help you get a better idea of my impressions of my surroundings, I will end with an exerpt from a journal entry I wrote the other day when I accompanied the Paz y Esperanza team to “el campo” for a meeting with an indigenous community about building a school.

The ride up here was beautiful. Although I’ve been here two weeks now, it still took my by surprise – we were driving through the jungle. There was such a profundity of life. As we drove a road of orange mud, we would often break through the treecover to see mountains and valleys of fog covering the verdant hillsides. The fog, although thick and penetrating, remained at the top of the hills, obscuring the tops of the tallest trees and blurring the line between land and sky. My window was cracked just enough to smell the mud spinning off our tires mixed with the rain that had fallen the night before. I could hear the sound of water droplets falling from the leaves of trees, birds and insects, and even the occasional monkey.

In the town of Jepelacio

I kept flashing back to trips to el campo with ATIYPAQ in Huancavelica. Driving through the Andes was spectacular and beautiful, of course, but it was foreign to me – an alien beauty. Here, though. This is a familiar beauty – a comfortable, welcoming beauty. No, I don’t live in the rainforest in the U.S., but I have always felt sheltered and safe in the trees of the East TN mountains. Here I feel the same. There is a profundity of life, as if there’s nothing else for the trees to do but live. Nothing for them to do but grow and stretch out their arms and embrace the sun or the rain or simply the sky. Life can’t help but live. Driving through the jungle, surrounded by the forest dripping with a symphony of sounds, I thought of Eden. This must be what God intended – every living thing seeming to flourish if only to celebrate life, to glorify God.

And then we drove through a small town. I’m not even sure it could be called a town, it was so small. It appeared out of nowhere, hiding amidst the fog and trees. There were homes, a few of them, built from bamboo and boards and palm leaves. There were holes in the walls and roofs. They were houses of one room with sad animals tied outside, standing with bowed heads in the rain that had begun to fall. Everywhere was mud. Mud was everywhere. We passed a woman and her son making their way slowly along the road. She wore black pants with holes in the knees and a pink shirt that clung to her skin from the rain. She rode bareback atop a donkey and wore no shoes. The boy walked in front of the donkey, his bare feet sinking in the mud. They didn’t even look up as we drove past in our truck. It was a reminder to me that, even amidst such peaceful and comforting and awesome beauty, there is poverty. Extreme poverty. While some live in such wealth, there are so many with so little. This can’t be what God intended in this land intended by God.

Photos galore!

A picture is worth a thousand words, right?

Many people have mentioned to me that they want to see more of my photos from my time here in Peru.  Although I have been updating photos regularly to my facebook account, I recognize that not everyone has a facebook account, is lucky enough to be friends with me, or stalks me on a regular basis – therefore, for whatever reason, I realize that not everyone has access to the photos I have already posted online.

For that reason, I have opened an online Picasa account for your viewing pleasure!

The albums are posted in reverse chronological order with the most recent photos at the top, so if you want to see my photos in the order I took them, be sure to start with the bottom album entitled “Bienvenidos a Peru” and work your way up.  I’ll be uploading on a fairly regular basis, so be sure to bookmark the site and check back frequently!

Be warned – there are a lot of photos, so take your time and enjoy them.  And feel free to leave comments on your favorite photos!  Your feedback is always appreciated.

My Picasa album:  http://picasaweb.google.com/smterpstra

Facebook friend disclaimer -  these are, for the most part, the same photos I have already posted to my albums on facebook, so if you have been following my photos on fb, you can disregard this post.

This past month…

Disclaimer – This entry is fairly long, but after a month of not updating, all of you better have the patience to make it to the end. It’s about where I’ve been for the past four weeks, anyway, so it’s obviously incredibly interesting.

As you probably could have predicted, I begin this blog with an apology. To the seven to thirteen of you who have been checking back regularly (Site Stats tell me how popular I am on a day-to-day basis), I apologize for not updating in so long. For the past three weeks, I have been living the life of a vagabond, traveling throughout Peru and even to Bolivia, leaving me with little internet access or time to write. This entry, therefore, will primarily serve to update you on where I am and what I have been doing, because I have to admit – my life is awesome.

Christmas in Peru

Because the decision was made for me to change placements, I spent Christmas in Lima with fellow volunteer Ginna and her host family instead of with my family in Huancavelica. Although it was tough to spend Christmas away from my families (in both the US and Huancavelica), I had a special time with Ginna and her family in Carabayllo, a very poor district of Lima (yes, where Paul Farmer worked, for those of you with impressive reading retention who have read Mountains Beyond Mountains).

Cathedral in Barranco, Lima

In the days leading up to Christmas, I had to keep reminding myself that my favorite holiday was at hand. I wasn’t near family, there were no Christmas carols being sung, there was no Christmas tree in the house, I wasn’t frantically rushing around buying gifts, and it was summertime for crying out loud – how could it possibly be Christmas? Truthfully, aside from the steady march of the calendar and the increasingly universal presence of Panetón (an actually sort-of tasty version of fruit cake that Peruvians LOVE), there was very little to indicate that Christmas was at hand. To compensate for the lack of Christmas spirit in Lima, Ginna and I spent our evenings watching Christmas movies (such as A Muppet Christmas Carol and Elf), drinking wine, eating chocolate, and harmonizing with each other on our favorite Christmas carols (Ginna is a fantastic singer).

I must be honest. When I first realized that I would be spending Christmas in Peru, I thought, “That will be cool. What a great opportunity to learn about another culture.”

Me and Ginna

However, when December 24^th rolled around, the only place in the world I wanted to be was sitting next to Ben, Katie, Jake, Mom and Dad in our pew, third from the front on the right, our faces lit by candlelight as we sang Silent Night.

Instead, I found myself sitting close to Ginna on her bed that night, our eyes closed and our feet resting on a dirt floor in Lima, Peru, slowly singing “O Come, O Come Emmanuel.” Singing with her, I finally began to feel what I had been missing. I finally began to feel that warm peace that I feel every year. There was still that void, of course – that unavoidable emptiness that comes from being away from my family, but there was also that peace. That familiar and comfortable peace of Christmas.

I wish I could tell you more about Christmas in Peru – like how at midnight on Christmas Eve the city lights up with twenty minutes of fireworks in every direction, or how most families do Secret Santa gift exchanges to save money – but I fear if I continue to wax eloquent I will never get to telling you about the rest of the past few weeks.

Playing Tourist

While moving to Peru for a year as a YAV might seem exotic (and indeed it is), the purpose of this volunteer year is not to play tourist. As a result, although I had been living in Peru for four months by the time Christmas rolled around, I had only been to Huancavelica (my home), Lima (for orientation and Thanksgiving), and Huanuco (for our first retreat). Therefore, when planning for our two-week, post-Christmas vacation with the other YAVs, we decided to do a Tour d’ Peru and hit up some of the most well-known cities.

The monastery in Arequipa

Our first stop was the city of Arequipa in the southern part of Peru. On the 27^th of December, after Ginna and I spent a night with Anna and Sarah Baja at Loki Hostal in Lima, the four of us hopped on a thirteen hour overnight bus-ride to Arequipa where we were to meet up with Joe, his girlfriend Erika, and Erika’s friend Stacie. As an amateur photographer, I was looking forward to Arequipa. Nicknamed the “White City” due to the local white stone that was used to construct much of the city, it is considered one of the most beautiful cities in all of Peru.

The Monastery in Arequipa

When I arrived, however, I was feeling a little under the weather and was unable to join the rest of the group for coffee and a trip to the monastery, one of the most-visited and most-photographed parts of the city. It turns out I had come down with one of the most miserable 24-hour stomach viruses of my life and spent the better part of that day and the next in bed with a bag at the ready. Luckily, I began feeling a little better the following day, so that afternoon I went by myself to the monastery, my camera in hand. The monastery in Arequipa remains one of the most photogenic places I have ever visited.

That evening, Anna, Sarah Baja, Ginna and I arrived at the bus station at 9:15 for our 9:30pm bus to Paracas only to discover our bus wasn’t there. “The bus never left, so the bus never arrived,” the woman behind the counter calmly told us, her half-opened eyes never leaving the computer screen. While our American senses of reliability and punctuality were incredulous and, truthfully, pissed off, our Peruvian sensibilities told us to look for another bus leaving that night. So, in a frantic rush, we were reimbursed (initially with two fake 100 sol bills) for the delinquent bus, bought four tickets to Lima on a different bus line, and were ushered in the nick of time onto our new bus…

…which crashed on its way to Lima.

Lovers in Lima

Now, don’t fret. I am writing this blog entry, so I obviously wasn’t killed or even seriously harmed. No, the only lasting result from our crash was that I can now brag to people that I was on a bus crash in Peru, a country famous for it’s poor highway safety. During the night, Anna and I were jerked awake while our bus rocked and pitted, and we eventually realized that our bus was at a significant tilt when it finally came to a stop. It wasn’t severe. In fact, looking in the seats behind us, Ginna and Baja were still asleep (and would later be angry that we didn’t wake them for their first Peruvian bus crash). Apparently, our bus has simply veered off the road in an attempt to avoid collison with another car. We were back on track to Lima within an hour.

Representing Maryville College!

Arriving in Lima a day earlier than scheduled, we returned to Loki Hostal where we were joined by Anna’s mother just in time for New Years. I was also able to meet up (to see Avatar!) with an old friend from Maryville College, Brian Phelps, who is currently serving as a Peace Corps Volunteer in Peru. Then, on the 2^{n d} (after swapping Sarah Baja for Alissa and adding Anna’s mother), our intrepid crew ventured North to Trujillo. While in Trujillo, which was not as interesting as we had been told, we visited three separate ruins, which were much more interesting than we had been told.

The Ruins of Chan Chan, moments before my camera broke.

For me, the most notable part of our trip to Trujillo was the devastatingly traumatic event that occurred at Chan Chan, our first ruin – my camera broke. Yes, I cried. Those of you who know me know how truly traumatic this really is for me. At the ruins I dropped my camera, a dear gift from a dear friend three years ago, on the rocks, breaking the screen. While the camera still takes photos, I can no longer change the settings or even see what I am photographing. Devastating, indeed.

After sucking it up and moving on as best I could, our group traveled to Huanchaco, a small coastal town about 45 minutes away from Trujillo and one of our favorite stops. After finding a hippie/indie restaurant with the best piña coladas you could imagine, we decided to stay an extra day. We spent our time walking along the coast, playing Hearts (it wasn’t the same without you, family), soaking up the sun, and competing in a subsequent sun-burn contest (Ginna won).

After two days playing beach bums, we went for as drastic a change as possible and took a bus bound for Huaraz, a gorgeous city in the Andes and home to Brian Phelps (see Avatar/Lima/MC). With Brian playing tour guide, Anna, Ginna, Alissa and I took an hour and a half taxi ride to Llaca, a glacier at roughly 15,000 ft elevation where we went on one of the most fantastic hikes of my entire life. I’ll let the photos speak for themselves.

And that’s with a broken camera!

Young Adult International Environmental Congress in Bolivia

An overlook in Sucre, Bolivia

After two weeks of playing tourist in Peru, I was fortunate enough to be invited to Bolivia to attend the 3^rd Annual International Congress of Young People in Defense of Water and the Environment as part of the Peruvian delegation. Anna, Joe, and I were asked to accompany the team of Peruvian young adults as they traveled to Sucre, Bolivia to give presentations over some of the most prevalent environmental issues in Peru and how young adults are responding.

Although I was thrilled and honored to be traveling to Boliva to attend the conference, I must admit it was a little strange to be going as part of the Peruvian delegation. Would they see me as just some gringa getting a free ride to Boliva? Was I taking the place of a Peruvian who could have – or should have – gone in my place? What was I doing? Truth be told, I felt a little guilty and even a little disoriented as we got on the plane, but the disorientation could have been due to the flight leaving at 4am.

After over 27 hours straight of travel which included planes, buses, and taxis and a walk over a bridge into Bolivia (yes, I walked into Bolivia), we finally arrived in Sucre for the four-day environmental conference. As I sat down to breakfast on the first day, I looked around me. There were youth and young adults from different parts of Peru, Bolivia, and the United States sitting together at different tables, talking and laughing.

The Environmental Fair in the Plaza

A few hours later, the conference was opened and the presentations began. Over the next few days, a total of 14 presentations were given regarding environmental issues concerning water in the different parts of the Americas, such as the contamination in La Oroya (click here to learn more), contamination in the San Fransisco Bay, and many others. During the day on Friday, booths were set up in one of the plazas of Sucre and local people, as well as some tourists, came by to talk to us about the environmental issues being presented. Then, that evening, everyone (except me – I had a migraine that evening) participated in a “culture night.” Traditional dances were presented by the delegations from each country (the U.S. delegation danced the Virginia Reel…last year they performed the Hokey Pokey) followed by a dance that lasted until 3am.

A family's home on the floating islands

Returning from Bolivia, the three YAVs (Joe, Anna and I) were fortunate enough to stay an extra day in Puno, one of the highest cities in Peru and on the shore of Lake Titicaca, the largest lake in South America and one of the highest commercially navigable lakes in the world (at nearly 13,000 ft). We visited the famous floating islands of the Uros people, one of the most incredible experiences of my life.

(I would write more about the floating islands, but this entry is already longer than some of the papers I wrote in college.   I will simply include one more photo.   If you want to know more, I may write more in a later entry or you can just email me privately.)

The floating islands of Lake Titicaca

I hope this entry has sufficiently updated you on my life over the past month or so. I have been busy, but I thank those of you who made it to the end of this entry – impressive! As I settle into my new home in Moyobamba, a quaint and charismatic city in the Amazon Rainforest in the Northern part of Peru, I am thinking of all of you as I hope you are thinking of me.

God Bless.

An overlook in Sucre, Bolivia

Newsletter

Disclaimer – Below is a copy of a newsletter I recently wrote for the PC(USA) website.  Although some of what I wrote in my newsletter may be old news to many of you, for those who have not been keeping up with my blog (shame!), this will serve as a brief and convenient recap of my past four months in Peru.  Also, if you’re interested in reading the newsletters of any of the other Young Adult Volunteers, you can find them here.

Hello Friends!

El tiempo ha volado. Time has flown.

As I sit down to write my first newsletter of my time in Peru, I feel mentally constipated.  I am completely blanking on what to say – a rare occurrence as many of you may know.  This is not because I am a person of few words or because there is little to talk about.  In fact, the opposite is true.  My four months in South America have been so full – of both the good and the difficult – that I am struggling to find the words to share that experience with you.  How does one summarize four months of new words in a new language, awkward moments, personal growth, cultural novelties, people, blessings, and frustrations in one newsletter?  I don’t know, but I will do my best.

When I left my home in East Tennessee back in late August, I tried convincing myself I had no expectations for the coming year.  I was going with an open mind, a warm heart, and willing hands.  As I got on the plane for South America with the five other Peru volunteers, all I knew was that I would be living in the town of Huancavelica (after four months, I know how to spell and pronounce it!) in the Andes Mountains at 12,000 ft and would be working with ATIYPAQ, an environmental organization.  I also knew things would be perfect there – I would make lifelong friends right off the bat, shock and awe everyone (including myself) with how quickly my Spanish improved, discover my true calling, figure out the will of God, and end hunger and poverty for good measure.

You may be surprised to hear that things didn’t go quite as smoothly as I had expected.

Upon arriving in my placement in Huancavelica, I discovered that much of my time would be spent adapting.  Adapting to the altitude, to the language (Spanish often mixed with Quechua, the ancient Incan language still spoken in the mountains), to the food, to the culture.  While adapting, I also spent my time trying to find my niche in ATIYPAQ and my host family.

While there was much about my three months in Huancavelica that was wonderful and joyful, such as the kids of my host family, my work situation never developed and my body never adapted – I was sick for the greater part of three months.  Finally, my site coordinator Debbie Horne and I made the difficult decision to change my placement in an effort to find a better work environment and to improve my health.

Even though it was difficult, I am very much at peace with the decision to change placements.  Initially, I was determined to stick it out, no matter how unhappy or unhealthy I was, simply for the sake of sticking it out – of knowing I stayed in the Andes Mountains and tried my hardest for a year.  But then I realized I was trying to play the role of martyr.  I have realized that is not the purpose of this year – this year is one of challenges, yes, but also one in which we are healthy, are growing emotionally and spiritually, and are ideally able to contribute something to our organizations.  In Huancavelica, given my health and work situation, that was impossible for me.

Having recently left Huancavelica, I am currently in limbo – a vagabond living in Lima for the Christmas holiday before leaving for a two week travel vacation with the other volunteers.  As of today, however, I do know that I will be moving to Moyobamba, a small city in the Amazon Jungle of Peru, just after we return from our Christmas vacation.  Yes, from the Andes to the Amazon!  While this renders useless much of my packing from last August (having packed nothing but sweaters and socks for the frigid mountains), I am beginning to realize that an unhappy and unhealthy situation has become an unexpectedly exciting one.  At the end of my year, I will have lived roughly three and a half months in the Andes Mountains, roughly one month in Lima (a desert coastline metropolis of nine million people), and seven months in the jungle.  I will have had the incredible opportunity to experience the varied splendor of Peru’s most spectacular geographical areas.

Knowing that I will be leaving for my new home in Moyobamba in less than one month has given me the strange sensation of déjà vu.  Although I have lived in Peru for four months now, in some ways I feel just as nervous and excited and curious as when I first arrived.  What will my host family be like?  My job?  How hot will it be, and are there flesh-eating bugs?  Will I feel at peace there?  Will I be able to contribute, to grow?

While old nerves are setting back in, I am still more relieved than when I first arrived four months ago.  Although I’m disappointed that I have wowed no one with my brilliant command of the Spanish language, I have improved significantly.  I am more confident in traveling alone and have become more accustomed to some of the cultural treasures of Peru.  Since not everything is new this time around, I feel more prepared to go and offer my gifts, whatever they may be, to my new organization Paz y Esperanza (Peace and Hope) and my new family in Moyobamba.

I am going out, again, with an open mind, warm heart, and willing hands.  May God use me as He will.

(And I’ll let you know how ending hunger and poverty goes.)

Peace and Love and Merry Christmas,

Sarah Terpstra – dreamer, idealist, Peru YAV

Images of Huancavelica

Disclaimer: I realize the formatting on this entry is a little strange.  I spent entirely too long trying to fix it to no avail, so this will have to do.

Before I leave this quaint, unique Andean town that will forever be a part of me, I would like to share with you a few lasting images from my time here. Even in difficult times, even when we are hurting both physically and emotionally, I believe it is important to see the beauty that surrounds us.

To find the beauty in our imperfect lives we sometimes have to look hard, but we rarely have to look very far.

Resting before a beautiful backdrop near the Andean village of Mosoqcancha

Two troublemaking boys make faces during a workshop in Hvca put on by the Red Uniendo Manos

A woman in Mosoqcancha, a town near Huancavelica, leaves to help harvest her family's crops

A close-knit family in the Andean village of Mosoqcancha

Celebrating the lives of loved ones at the cemetery for Día de los Muertos

My family – Haydé and Joel with their four children, Fiorella, Marcos, Mirella, and José

A sweet boy waits as his mother attends an artisan's workshop

A rooftop backed by the Andes Mountains

A grandmother picks up her granddaughter from a children's center to feed the poorest children of Hvca

A woman in traditional mountain clothing listens to a presentation on reforestation in Mosoqcancha

Alongside the road, a horse grazes in the Andean village of Mosoqcancha

The sun sets on another day in Huancavelica

Stuffed llamas made by artisans of Hvca for the children at Albergue, a children's center to feed poor children of Hvca

A woman prays over her husband's grave with flowers and lit candles on Día de los Muertos

One of the many colorful doors of Huancavelica

A colorful mural on a wall in Huancavelica calls for Peace

Goodbye, Farewell

Firstly, I would like to apologize for the lack of recent updates. Secondly, I would like to apologize in advance for the brevity of this update. Although this will be brief, I want to fill you in, at least in part, on what is going on in my life and why I have been derelict in my blogging duties. As my sister points out every time we chat, Inquiring minds want to know, Sarah dear – so if you are an inquiring mind and want to know, here you are.

It is difficult to know exactly what to say, or how to say it sensitively and diplomatically, but I want to share with you honestly.

I have made the very difficult decision to change placements. Yes, that means I will be leaving my host family whom I have grown to love, Huancavelica, and the Andes Mountains. The past few months have not been easy for me but I have done my best to share with you the most beautiful and uplifting and educational aspects, which are ample and precious to me, of my time here.

Some of the things I have not shared with you have been my unending and unchanging frustrations with my job – which I will not go in to unless you ask me privately – and, most importantly, my virtually constant health issues. In the past few months I have probably lost roughly twenty pounds (gaining a good number of them back over our Thanksgiving retreat in Lima), and although I am happy with this change, I am not happy with the way it has come about. Again, for your sake I will not go into details or the YAV bowel-movement identification system, but being constantly physically sick has also taken an emotional toll on me, as those with whom I have regularly been communicating know all too well. Therefore, primarily due to health issues, I have decided to be proactive and make a change.

Working with Debbie, our site coordinator, we are looking for a new placement for me in Peru – preferably somewhere warmer, dryer, and at a lower altitude. Although I am eager to make this change for the better, it has been a very painful and complicated decision making process. Yes, my time has been difficult for many reasons. Yes, I have been sick and unhappy. But I have also grown to love this place in a special way. So, before I leave the Andes for a new adventure in a new part of the country, I want to leave you with the things I will miss most about Huancavelica, the most beautiful Andean town there is.

Huancavelica, An Andean Town

I will miss the mountains. I am unbelievably lucky to have spent the first twenty-two years of my life in the comforting, gentle Smoky Mountains of East Tennessee, but I am equally lucky to have spent the past three months of my life in the harsh, spectacular, forbidding, and gravity-defying beauty of the Peruvian Andes Mountains. Here is a place where people have adapted their lives to the land, not the other way around.

I will miss the crazy woman next door. On the first floor of maybe every other house in Huancavelica is a mini, family-run store that sells anything from homemade bread to small sodas to fruit and candy. Next door to my family’s home is one such tienda run by a large, boisterous, 73-year-old woman who sits on her stoop in vibrant skirts. Every day, without fail, she shouts “MAMA GRINGA!” at the top of her lungs as I walk by her door. I admit, it made me a little uncomfortable at first, but I decided to stop one day and talk with her. She and I have since become fast friends, even though she continues to ask “MAMA GRINGA, WHAT’S YOUR NAME?” when I stop each day for a hug and a Sublime chocolate.

Local artisan women

I will miss the traditional mountain dress. Walking through the city, roughly one out of every four women is wearing the beautiful, colorful, traditional dress of the mountains – black, string-less shoes, warm knitted leggings up to their knees, triply layered knee-length skirts of yellows and pinks and blues and reds that would not match to the unimaginative North American eye, triply layered sweaters of even more impossibly bright and bold colors, and long black double braids cascading down their backs from under broad-rimmed hats. Although it may sound silly, living here has given me a new appreciation of color and how colors can be unexpectedly harmonious.

I will miss my family. In three short months I have come to love my Peruvian family, especially the four beautiful kids. Just last night, four-year-old José sprinted into my arms after coming home from school, shouting “Te quiero, Tía! Te quiero!” while planting kiss after sloppy kiss on my cheek. Leaving those kids will, by far, be the hardest thing about leaving Huancavelica.

Cathedral

Disclaimer: This post has made me realize that I think (and write) parenthetically. Also, FYI – I didn’t take my camera on the waterfall-climb.

2009-2010 Peru YAVs - Alissa, Joe, Ginna, Me, Anna, and Sarah Baja

Prayers of the People

(This is a recording of the YAVs singing Prayers of the People during retreat.  Mostly included for other YAVs around the world – most people’s favorite song at Orientation.  We sang this with words we ourselves contributed so the song could be a prayer for the others in our group and those we are serving with in Peru.)

Two weekends ago, the YAVs (Joe, Ginna, Anna, Sarah Baja, Alissa, and me) met in Huanuco, Peru for our first retreat, an event that was exciting for many reasons. Not only was it an opportunity for me to see my fellow YAVs for the first time in a month, but it was also a chance for me to see a different (warmer!) part of the country. And the YAV Program footed the bill!

The Young Adult Volunteer Program is a multi-faceted program. In addition to a year of actively living and working with people of a different (and usually less economically advantaged) culture, an important part of being a YAV is active introspection and spritual discernment. Now, while I’m still unsure of what exactly I am discerning – what exactly it is I am searching for – I love the discernment process. Maybe it’s because I have discovered that I actually like spending time with myself. Maybe it’s because it would be nearly impossible to digest what I’m witnessing and experiencing without some intentional reflection. Maybe it’s because I sometimes wind up napping, and I love naps.

Whatever the reason, I find that I am growing, not just in a “wow, I’m beginning to understand a world outside of the United States” way (although that’s big), but I find that I am growing into myself. I am becoming painfully aware of faults and insecurities and needs in myself that I have, until now, successfully overlooked (thank you friends who have helped me in this painful process, listening and loving). But I am also becoming more aware of my gifts, learning to embrace my quirks and talents (thank you friends who have helped me in this exciting process, listening and loving). Recognizing I am by no means perfect, I am becoming more myself every day. I’m becoming a person I love, hangups and all. Seems like a pretty positive side effect of the discernment process, if you ask me.

To talk about the actual, YAV-sanctioned discernment process, however, I must end my tangential back-pat and get back to the Huanuco retreat. Meeting at an organic farm in Huanuco, a beautiful city close to the jungle with perfect weather and bugs that will eat you alive, provided an opportunity for Debbie (our site coordinator), her husband Harry, and all of the YAVs to meet in a safe and English-speaking space to reflect, complain, and/or celebrate together. Each day (there were only four) consisted of delicious meals (remember, it was an organic farm), bible study, reflection time, and occasionally activities away from the farm. It was a relaxed time in which we were surrounded by others who shared our struggles and our victories, however small they might be.

Friday (our tourist day, if you will, and we certainly did) began at 5:00 am when we sluggishly boarded a convi (effectively a van-taxi) for our trip to la selva – the rainforest. While we had been told that we would be spending the day climbing waterfalls, I don’t think it really sunk in that we would be climbing waterfalls in the Amazon Rainforest, partly because we all fell into a dramamine-induced sleep during the four hour ride (during which I was again reminded of the Teacup ride at Dollywood) on the way to our destination. When we arrived, while availing ourselves of the (loosely-termed) facilities and eating a hasty (but delicious) breakfast, we took in our surroundings. How could we not?

The air was crisp and moist against my skin. It felt electric with life. I could hear the sounds of the forest – not animals, necessarily, but that beautiful, rich, living and breathing sound of a vibrant forest that envelops you and kisses your skin and vibrates aganist your closed eyelids. That subtle yet commanding sound that piques all of your senses and makes you listen more closely – to what, you’re not sure. As we began walking toward our first waterfall, away from the road and into the forest, I smelled a richness in the air. A thick, delicious, and almost sweet smell of rotting wood, graciously yielding to the birth and growth of a new generation – young but strong trees countering, or perhaps complimenting, the smell of decay with a clean scent of vitality.

After a short but beautiful walk, we veered off the marked trail and began making our way to the stream below. We gathered on slippery rocks at the base of our first ascent, a small fall of water but a waterfall nonetheless, and waited, shivering, as Juan, his wife Nancy, and Guillermo set up the “equipment.” I use quotes because Camp John Knox director Bri Payne would never recognize our setup as safe and it certainly wouldn’t be approved by ACA.

After suiting up Joe in his harness for the first ascent, the rest of us watched and waited, listening to the forest, in the pool of water while he climbed. He lived. I was second, and as I waded farther into the pool, the cold water climbing my body and causing me to breathe sharply, it struck me as odd and almost comical that I was about to climb a waterfall in the Amazon Rainforest in the heart of Peru. Are you kidding me? Was this really me, Sarah Terpstra, about to do this? Was I dreaming, or living someone else’s life? Pardon my french, but I felt like a complete badass. As the water reached my neck and I reached for the blue rope to help pull myself up, I realized that I would brag about this experience for the rest of my life. It might be my new conversation opener with new friends. “Hi, my name is Sarah Terpstra, and I’ve climbed waterfalls in the Amazon Rainforest. And you are?” Consider yourselves warned.

When I got to the top of the falls, I was surprised by how easy it had been. The water had washed away the majority of moss from the rocks, and, using a blue rope to help pull myself up and relying on the pull at my harness, I had found ample purchase for my feet on the rocks. At the top, I looked over at Juan to smile in victory when I realized that he had been pulling the white rope attached to my harness with nothing but his hands. He had no harness on himself and had just been pulling me up, hand over hand. The former camp counselor in me screamed “This is not safe!  Get on belay!” and the Peruvian YAV in me said “Oh well. Welcome to safety in Peru.” No one died, so I guess it was safe enough.

We continued up the stream, climbing waterfall after waterfall and soaking in God’s natural beauty. To save time, we climbed a few of the easier falls without harnesses and many times we were simply hopping from rock to rock. There were moments when, looking at my feet as I jumped to the next rock, I was back in the Smoky Mountains, rock-hopping with my cousin Matt. Then I would stop, look up and around me and realize where I was. The forest was resplendent in its beauty, complete and virtually unadulterated, save for us, intruders trying to understand and appreciate its gifts.

I could try to explain to you how I could almost taste the vibrant green of the forest on my tongue. I could try to explain to you how the sound of running water and breathing trees filled my head and rested behind my eyes. I could try to explain to you the electric vibration I felt against my skin and how natural and perfect the forest seemed. I could try, but no words can capture that sort of dynamic, living beauty. God’s cathedral.

All I can say is that I felt such peace, such grace. The beauty was tangible and sustaining.

God must be well-pleased.

La Vida Peruana

While musing over possible topics of my next entry, it occurred to me (or was pointed out to me, if you want to be technical) that I haven’t really described what my life is like here. Yes, I have told you about funny nicknames, bloody decapitations, and toilet practices here in Peru, but I have not really provided a clear understanding of what my life is actually like. I’m here for a year (actually now about 9 ½ months…time is flying!), so in order for you to be able to truly commiserate or celebrate with me, I will try to describe for you mi vida Peruana – my Peruvian life.

Work

Since it is tricky and confusing, I’ll start by describing life with ATIYPAQ, the organization with which I am working this year. For starters, ATIYPAQ is a Quechua (the ancient Inca language still spoken by the people of the mountain) word that roughly translates to Empowerment. The main focus of ATIYPAQ, a non-governmental organization, is to work with local communities – very small and unbelievably impoverished farming communities of the Andes Mountains – to develop and improve quality of life. This includes an emphasis on the sustainable development of farming practices and equitable trade for the farmers.

But none of that is the tricky or confusing part.

It gets tricky and confusing when I try to figure out my role in this hectic and not-so-well oiled machine. Multiple factors complicate the situation. First of all, not only have I been sick and missing work occasionally, I am not yet fluent in the language; the vocabulary with which I am trying to get acquainted is scientific and technical – I had enough trouble with my science classes in English! This barrier makes it very difficult to be integrated (or to integrate myself) in pre-existing projects, at least initially.

A view of the city of Huancavelica

Another difficulty I am encountering is actually at the opposite end of the spectrum. I am an American with a degree in Chemical Physics. While this may sound impressive, my professors (hello Drs Gibson, Turner, and Miller!) can attest to the fact that this doesn’t necessarily mean I actually know science. Yes, I passed my classes and graduated on time and even enjoyed Physical Chemistry (believe it), even though I admit I slacked a little bit. In Peru, however, I am being introduced as a “specialist” of Chemistry and Physics. I am a specialist of neither Chemistry nor Physics – maybe procrastination. This title is, to say the least, intimidating. To a certain extent, probably partly because I am American, I am even sometimes assumed to be more of a scientific authority than the ATIYPAQ engineers here who have been working with these issues for years. It is frustrating and truthfully almost infuriating that I am assumed to be a greater authority when I know that I have much more to learn from them than they do from me. I find myself wanting to remind the office that just last year I was a student – napping, gossiping, drinking beer (yes, Mom), and “studying” in Cades Cove with my camera.

That said, my specific role in ATIYPAQ will most likely consist of educating local children about environmental issues and working with the engineers on the projects in el campo, the countryside. These include projects ranging from the production of dairy products to the care of farm animals to the development and installation of dry toilets (actually what I’m most interested in, insert potty humor here). None of which I am a “specialist” or “expert” on, thank you very much. For now, it feels that the most I can offer is my willingness to learn. Wish me luck.

Home

Probably my greatest blessing in Peru, in addition to family and friends who are supporting me with love and encouragement from home, is my Peruvian family. I have truly and completely grown to love them and depend on them. They are beautiful. In a future entry, I will paint you a picture of them – their likes, dislikes, gifts, quirks, annoyances – so you can get to know them better, but for now I will simply provide a general description of what it is like to live with a wonderful and gracious family in the poorest province of Peru.

Our Peruvian Fridge

Every morning, Hayde (my host mom) wakes up at about 5:30 to begin cooking. Since Hayde works at ATIYPAQ as well and is frequently in el campo during the day, she prepares enough food in the morning for the rest of the day. While I’ll go into greater detail about Peruvian food later, suffice it to say that the food is very rich in carbs and starches and we typically eat the same thing for breakfast and lunch, which is the largest meal of the day. After joining the family for a radio-noisy breakfast around the too-small table (usually with Hayde eating standing up, going back and forth to the stove), I wash the dishes (which took a lot of convincing) while the children get ready for school. While getting ready for work, I usually hear Joel (my host dad) fussing at the kids, calling them “little mice” and telling them to hurry.

At about 8:40, I leave the house (sometimes with Hayde, usually by myself) for my twenty minute walk to the office. Walking primarily on dirt roads, I wave at the next door neighbor who shouts “Mama gringa!” every day when I leave our house. And every day I am stared at by each person I pass. I must brag, though – the other day I saw my first person walk into a wall because they were gawking at me; karma’s a bitch. Anyway, on my walk, I pass through the small park of San Cristobal, the neighborhood in which I am living. There are children playing or rushing to school, and occasionally I can hear a pickup panpipe band playing under “El Sombrero,” a covered gazebo in the park. I then walk down the 49 stone steps into the city, the houses getting nicer and more colorful as I descend. I pass no less than twenty stray, mangy dogs. Sometimes they bark, sometimes they chase, usually they ignore.

I arrive at the office at 9:05 am and am often the first person there. Peru operates on a different understanding of time – if you arrive within fifteen minutes of an appointed time, you are on time. I stay at work until 1pm, usually trying to figure out what I need to be learning, sometimes going on a trip to el campo, and always wishing my Spanish was better. At 1pm, the office closes for two hours to allow everyone to go home for lunch and I walk thirty minutes back to the house, ignoring dogs and stares and wannabe boyfriends named Fernando. That’s a story for another day.

A Relative's Rooftop

After a two hour lunch break and about four more hours of trying to figure out how I can be useful at work, I head home at around 5:45. I am always the first person to leave, but it isn’t safe for me, a gringa, to walk home in the dark. Initially I wanted to stay late like everyone else, and maybe I will eventually, but for now the number of shouts and people trying to walk with me and touch me and ask me for money has convinced me that I need to travel when it is light outside.

The four kids – Fiorella, Marcos, Mirella, and Jose – are all at home when I arrive and usually greet me by jumping on me, trying to climb the Tall Aunt and touch the lightbulb on the ceiling. I climb up to the kitchen, kids in tow, and sit down at the table for dinner. Dinner each night consists of maybe one piece of bread, butter on good days, and a cup of tea or hot cocoa. The kids shout details of their day to me, shoving bread in my hands, drinking their tea and complaining about each other before screaming “Buenas noches, Tia!” and rushing downstairs to watch cartoons as they fall asleep. They are usually in bed by 6:30 or 7:00 pm.

After the kids are in bed, I usually sit down to my computer to read or write or catch up on emails. Yes, we have internet in the house. No, there is not a shower and the six family members share a bedroom, but we have internet. I would be lying if I said this was not a great blessing. About 7:30, Joel returns home, shouting a hello to his “little mice” before teasing me about my Peruvian boyfriends. Apparently Sarah-Terpstra-Teasing is not a phenomenon particular only to the United States but transcends language barriers and international boundaries. I threaten Joel that he better watch out – I’m planning great comebacks for when my Spanish improves. It’s strange, insults seem to lose their sting when you have to ask what “jerk” is in Spanish. What is “third derivative” in Spanish?

By the time Hayde returns home from the office, anywhere between 9:00 and 10:30, the rest of the family is zonked and I am usually reading in bed. She greets me through my door and collapses in bed only to wake up a few hours later and begin it all again.

First Kill

Disclaimer: I planned on writing more about Peruvian food in general but I have found there is simply too much to say, so for now I write only about one particular experience – killing a rooster for lunch. I will describe Peruvian food in greater detail later because believe me, you want to know. Also, I have a new nickname. At my brother-in-law Jake’s suggestion, I will henceforth answer only to Godzilla Barbie.

My First Kill (kind of):

Aside from my undercover days as 007 on my friend Melissa’s PlayStation, I had never killed a living thing until this past Sunday when I helped kill a rooster for lunch. I suppose technically I didn’t really help kill the rooster, unless you count standing five feet away holding my camera helping, but I participated nonetheless.

Although I had been prepped (by my host mother repeatedly drawing a finger across her neck) for about a week that we would be killing a rooster from the back yard, I really had no idea what to expect. Would there be much blood? Would it really run around after we cut off the head? Do roosters have breasts, too? I was nervous, of course, and excited, all mixed with a healthy dose of guilt for actually looking forward to such a morbid event.

Before

When I was called up to the roof on Sunday, I found Joel, my host dad, holding a beautiful orange and red and brown rooster cradled in his arms like a baby. He was stroking it, speaking to it softly in a low and soothing voice. I was struck by the gentleness with which he held and caressed the rooster, and when he saw me standing there, he smiled a sad sort of smile that didn’t touch his eyes. I was struck by an unexpected set of emotions, but I wasn’t sad, exactly. I was closer to my food than I had ever been – seeing it alive, touching it, moments before it was killed for my sustenance. I felt a strange gratefulness. A strange and unexpected humility.

A few minutes later, Hayde, my host mom, came onto the roof with a pink bucket and a knife with a wooden handle I had heard being sharpened in the kitchen. Hayde and Joel traded their items, Hayde sitting on a small wooden stool with the rooster in her arms and Joel squatting at her side, reaching over the pink bucket for the rooster’s head with one hand while holding the knife in the other. Before Joel drew the knife across the outstretched neck, I was vaguely aware of 9-year-old Marcos, watching from the other side of the roof, saying just softly enough, “Don’t kill my rooster, don’t kill my rooster.”

After

After the rooster was killed (I will spare you the details of the actual act), which took much less time than I would have expected, Hayde and Joel wasted no time. After rinsing out the blood and placing the rooster in the pink bucket, Joel poured nearly-boiling water over its body, causing many of the feathers to lift and float away. I then helped Hayde pluck the feathers from the still-warm body, leaving the rooster almost humiliatingly naked.

After rinsing the naked rooster in the house, I then watched as Hayde deftly opened its body and removed its innards, showing me various organs so I could learn what their names are in Spanish and which ones are tastiest – something I imagine will come in handy when threatening little Jose to behave. Hayde then effortlessly cut up the rooster’s body, placed the cuts of meat in a large pot and began moving about the kitchen, preparing the rest of the meal.

The entire process took roughly twenty minutes. Lunch was delicious.

Full Disclosure

I write this next blog entry with full disclosure. You will get the full (or mostly full, as we both don’t want me to post a dissertation) Peru experience as I can relate it to you – the good, the bad, the smelly, the tasty, the difficult.

Full disclosure: this is my ninth day without a shower. Yes, disgusting. Believe me, any grimaces or crinkled noses you are making right now I have been making for the past week. Now, although some of you may know that I used to (jokingly, of course) see how long I could go without showering when I was a counselor at Camp John Knox, this is not the same. To understand the not-showering, it is first important to know that I have been sick for the past week or so. Very sick, in fact. You probably laughed or shook your head upon reading that I ate a homemade popsicle from the street last Sunday. Well, it was a bad decision. All you need to know is that Monday, I stayed home – I will spare you the details. Then on Tuesday, I became quite sick with a throat thing. Again, I will spare you the details (and the photos I took to document the condition of my throat. Yes, I am a photographer and a scientist!). All you need to know is that I stayed home the rest of the week and even considered traveling to Lima (a nine hour bus ride) to see a doctor.

To understand the not-showering, it is also important to know that they have a saying in Huancavelica: no one ever died from being dirty (implied: but people have died from being sick and wet and cold). I haven’t had the energy to talk about deaths from lack of sanitation – partly because I know that such an argument doesn’t really count in my case of nine days without shampooed hair. Regardless, I have not been allowed to shower for the past nine days because I have been sick. Dirty and sick – a miserable combination.

(Happy side note – being sick with altitude sickness and throat issues is the best diet plan one could ever hope for. And it’s free!)

Full disclosure: I have many new nicknames, some flattering, some not. Let me know which is your favorite and we’ll see if we can make it stick when I come home.

Tia Alta = Tall Aunt (I am very tall here)

Tia Godzilla

Gringa Alta = Tall White Girl (Not very creative, if you ask me.)

Blanca Nieve = Snow White (The sister of my host dad thought I could be Snow White for Halloween and collect enough kids from the neighborhood to be my seven dwarves)

Tia Barbie = Aunt Barbie (My host dad thought this was clever when I couldn’t eat. He told me I would return to the states a Barbie. Flattering until you realize you’re actually being called Barbie)

Tia Godzilla = Aunt Godzilla (I am very tall here, and apparently very scary with large teeth and bad skin.)

Full disclosure: I have smoked my first Peruvian cigarette. One of my first nights here in Huancavelica, my stomach and head were bothering me a little, most likely from the altitude – I had been having trouble eating and was feeling generally miserable. That evening, probably frustrated with my apparent distaste for her food, my host mom Hayde tells me to go to my room and wait for her there. She walks in a few minutes later with a lit cigarette in her hand, looks at me with inflated cheeks, and begins blowing smoke around my room. Onto my clothes, into my suitcase, onto my pillow, into the corners of my room. She continues taking drags on the cigarette then looks at me, cigarette in one hand, and says “Take off your scarf.” Not knowing what else to do, I take off my scarf. She leans forward, pulls open my shirt and blows smoke down the front of my shirt. She does this a few more times, alternating between the front of my shirt, back of my shirt, and chullo that I am wearing. She then sits down on the bed and holds the cigarette out to me. “Finish it,” she says. I say “New things every day…” and take the cigarette from her. As I am finishing the cigarette, she tells me that they believe in natural remedies and that I should be feeling better soon as the cigarette is made partly from coca leaves (used in cocaine). Although (to make it more interesting and dramatic) I’d like to pretend that my stomach felt better and I was high as a kite, truthfully I really didn’t feel any different. Both a good thing and admittedly a little disappointing. But who knows, maybe you don’t feel it til the second time…? Come to think of it, my stomach is bothering me just a tad…

Just kidding, Mom.

Sheep brains on a spoon.

Full disclosure: I ate soup with a sheep’s head in it. Yes, the whole head. Floating, in the pot. Since this was while I was sick and could only eat broth, I was blissfully unaware of the head until much later in the meal when 9-year-old Marco said “I don’t want to eat the eye.” At first I thought it must have just been a linguistic misunderstanding (that is always my first and usually most accurate assumption). It wasn’t. He clunked something heavy down on the table and I realize it is part of a skull. The part of a skull with an eyeball still in it. The first thing I do after jumping in shock, of course, is rush downstairs for my camera. Getting a kick out of my trigger-happy nature, one of the girls tentatively holds out her spoon and says “…and the brain?” Oh, of course. The brain. If there is an eyeball in the soup, of course there would be some brain, as well. Thankfully, my throat illness kept me from trying the …tastier parts of the meal, but I do intend to steel myself for such an adventure in the future. A little brain never hurt anybody, right?