World mappers

World map class is in full swing, and as you can see from this photo, the kids are making speedy progress!

Dany and Raúl work diligently on their assigned countries

This year's map has been painted much faster than last year's, partially due to the significantly smaller size of the wall, and partially because we were able to use a projector to trace the whole map in a couple hours (instead of spending two weeks copying it from a scaled grid). This is both a joy (less tedious work) and a challenge, since a smaller wall can only occupy a handful of kids at a time. We've taken to splitting each painting group in half, so that some kids paint while some play soccer. Each map class also involves a significant amount of time spent cleaning.

Clean-up party!

Thirty elementary school children + non-washable paint + close painting quarters = inevitable disaster.

To boot, we also have a couple students with learning disabilities. During week one, we quickly learned that Luis (pictured below) could not be allowed near the map wall - painting inside the lines is not exactly his forte, and he has a special tendency to drip paint on his unsuspecting classmates. He also somehow ended up with copious amounts of paint in his own hair, resulting in a twenty-minute thinner scrubbing by myself to avoid a potentially angry parent. So, for week two we assigned Luis the very important job of master brush-cleaner. This was the perfect job for him, until he got thinner in his eye - ouch! But I'm proud to say that three weeks in, we've finally figured it out: put Jessica's sunglasses on him for eye protection and let him clean away!

Luis, master brush-cleaner

A fiery morning

When we first arrived in Peru, the Peace Corps doctors gave each of us one of these bracelets, and promised that if we wore it, we’d never get diarrhea. While that is so far from true it’s not even funny, I do like to think that the bracelet holds a more important talisman-like power: making sure we don’t die. You may laugh, but the reality is that Peace Corps life comes with a set of risks that I simply wouldn’t face in America: narrow curvy mountain roads sped around by worn-out buses and careless drivers that result in hundreds of accidents every year; sticking out as a clearly-foreign female target for robberies, assaults or worse in the big cities; living three+ hours from the nearest capable medical attention in an emergency; the list goes on. So while it may seem silly, a good-luck bracelet provides a little comfort, greatly helped by always paying a little more attention to my danger-radar than I would in the States.

This morning, me and the bracelet had our first really close call: my family’s gas stove exploded while I was trying to cook breakfast. Firstly, I’m okay! A little burned, a little charred, and quite shaken, but nothing that time won’t heal – luckily. Now for the story: I came downstairs to make tea as usual. I noticed that one of the burner knobs was open, but that there was no flame. Since our household-helper/maid/cook was already downstairs, I figured she’d turned on the stove to cook and then hadn’t noticed when the gas had run out (this wasn’t unusual - every so often the gas barrel runs out of gas and we have to call for a replacement). I turned the knob off, and since I didn’t smell gas, thought nothing of it. Just in case there was any fuel left, I decided to try one of the other burners, since I really wanted to cook some eggs. So I opened the burner’s knob, lit the match, and WHOOSH! Two of the burners let out a wave of flames, and the cupboard beneath the stove burst open from the force of the huge fiery gas that rushed out of it. I screamed, both from fear and from the heat, quickly reached to close the knob, and ran the heck out of the kitchen.

A quick check confirmed that I was not in any way on fire, but the front of my clothes felt burnt, parts of my skin felt a bit raw, and I could tell my hair had gotten singed. But in those first minutes (probably more like half hour), what I mostly felt was shock, shaking and crying. I called the Peace Corps doctors, who told me to calm down, try and focus on where I might be burnt, and run those parts under cold water. As time wore on, pain revealed itself and I realized the back of my left hand and fingers, and my left shin were significantly burned (but no blisters; only first degree). A look in the mirror showed that my eyelashes and eyebrows had lost 2/3 of their previous length, and the remaining stubs felt crispy and stiff. My hair, also burnt on the front part of both sides, felt the same, and pieces fell out when I touched them. But thankfully, that was it! No other parts of my skin or face were burnt, and if you didn't look closely, you might not even notice my eyelashes. I'm sure you, as I am, are capable of imagining all the myriad ways this situation could have ended exponentially worse. It turns out the gas burner had been left open all night - I'm lucky the whole room didn't explode, and that most of the gas seemed to have bottled up in just the cabinet. I am incredibly thankful to have escaped basically unharmed, but I know my singed hairs will serve as a reminder to keep my guard up for these last six months - you never know what Peru's going to throw at you next!

A trip north

Since about half of Cajamarca's volunteers are clustered around a small northern city called Chota, we occasionally have our regional meetings there instead. So last weekend I made the 7.5-hour trip from my site to Chota, and aside from all the transport hours, it was a really nice time. We got to eat a lunch of homemade veggie burgers, courtesy of Chota volunteer Andrea, and later we enjoyed a dinner of the city's specialty: cecina. Cecina is cured pork meat - a similar concept to jerky - and Chota is famous among Peace Corps volunteers for having the best cecina restaurant in all of Peru. I'm not big on dried meat, but even so the restaurant lived up to its reputation (luckily, since pork was literally all they served!) 

During the day, after we'd taken care of the meeting business, Andrea took us to an orphanage she works at on the edge of town to hang out with the kids for a couple hours. On a beautiful hillside overlooking the city, we got to play soccer, put up Michelle's slackline, and relax on the grass. 

Juancito, acrobat in training, loving life on the slackline

Where the cool kids hang out

In January and February, the youth of Cajabamba are on vacation from school. Consequently, Linnea, Jessica and I are attempting to lure all these free-roaming jóvenes into hanging out with us - and possibly learning something - in our summer camp classes. This year, the three of us are joint-teaching the following program:

High school: 

• Personal development (leadership, self esteem, sexual health, tolerance, planning for the future, gender equity, drugs/alcohol)
• Public speaking (communication skills, speaking in front of groups, confidence, teamwork, debate)
• Community art (identify and discuss a problem in Cajabamba, design and paint a mural about it)

Elementary school:

• English (every parent's favorite)
• Culture (music, dance, art, theater, creative writing, poetry, food)
• World map (lessons on geography and world cultures, plus painting a world map mural)

It may seem like a lot, but each class only occurs once per week for either 1.5 or 3 hours, and there are three of us to split the lesson-planning work, so it works out really well. You can see from the list of topics that they all err on the fun side of academics - we decided what we wanted to teach based on a) what the kids would think fun enough to motivate them to attend a non-obligatory class during their vacation, and b) what we feel it's important to teach the kids and what we would enjoy teaching. For example, public speaking - Peruvian kids drive us nuts in our regular classes with their timidity and so-quiet-they're-impossible-to-hear voices. Thus we consider it a really important skill set to teach, and it's also something that's highly interactive and heavy on the student participation - definite musts for a summer class. Another example: culture class. How do you entertain 35 elementary-aged children for an hour and a half? Have them draw pictures of imagined animals, teach them to dance the "Electric Slide," or let them be silly with theater games. 

For me, summer camp is always an extra-fun time of year because it's pretty much the only time I get to work with elementary students (they're not exactly the focal age group of the economic development program). And kids that young are just plain fun to be around - they're enthusiastic, affectionate, super goofy, and chock full of energy. Plus - bonus! - every single one of them will come greet you with a kiss when they arrive and leave the classroom. What's not to love? Here's some pictures from our first week and a half of camp:

Balloon-popping game to symbolize protecting your self esteem

Checking out the world map wall

Skits about goal-setting and planning for the future

Mirror game to practice non-verbal communication

Jessica showing what not to do in public speaking

Sayuri, Flor, Rosa, and Shary running over to touch my black pants during an English class color-learning game

Raúl and Felipe concentrating hard trying to draw each other's portraits during art class

A shower story

This is my Peruvian shower, also known as a widow-maker. This complicated mess of tubes and electric wiring is technically called a water heater, but "water-sort-of-warmer" would be a more accurate name. On a good day, the shower gets to where it could tentatively be called lukewarm, but with the water pressure of a dripping sink. The first paradox of the widow-maker is that the harder the water pressure, the colder the water - if there's too much water rushing through the tube, the heater can't effectively warm it. The second paradox of my particular widow-maker is that if you put the water pressure on too low, the whole circuit will short out and the heater will stop working entirely. Even if you take care to set the appropriate flow level, your best-laid plans can be demolished by someone else in the house turning on another water source - the kitchen sink, the upstairs sink, etc. This typically happens at least once per shower.

My shower process commonly goes something like this: 1) put on flip-flops, gather shower stuff and clothes, and walk downstairs; 2) check shower for spiders - generally there are at least two, but if they seem settled in their corners I let them be; 3) turn water knob to reach a not-too-much-not-too-little water pressure point; 4) flip on widow-maker; 5) further adjust water pressure, getting a slight electric shock to my fingers each time I touch the water knob; 6) enter shower, shudder at how not-hot it is, but eventually get semi-used to it; 7) shower as fast as possible (a.k.a. almost never wash hair) and pray that the circuit doesn't short out; 8) inevitably, the circuit shorts anyway, and with a quick flicker of the lights my water goes ice-cold; 9) try in vain to get the heater to function again without getting too many electrical shocks to my body; 10) exit shower as fast as possible.

Sadly, I've come to consider the above scenario a "good" shower day. Recently, our widow-maker has been on the fritz, simply deciding to malfunction without any logical reason - there have been a lot of ice-cold (mountain water) showers, during which I literally get brain freeze. I'm secretly hoping the machine just full-on breaks soon, since then we can start talking about getting a new one! But, to put this whole scene in perspective, at least I have: a) running water, b) a shower that is c) in a semi-clean bathroom with a locking door, and d) even the possibility of sort-of heating my water - many PCVs have none of the above, so I'm still doing quite well for myself here in Cajabamba.

A bump in the road

Hmmm… is there something wrong with this picture? Thankfully this photo/story are not my own, but come from my fellow 19er Anel. Anel did her world map project, painted a beautiful mural, and then a few months later the school decided it needed another door to that bathroom. Womp womp. While this picture is incredibly sad, as a PCV (Anel included) you can't help but laugh - we've all had something like this happen to at least one of our projects, although admittedly never in a way so eloquently captured on film. But we've all had commitments gone back on, event space reclaimed at the last minute, or some (literal) rain on our parade. It's not pretty, but it's part of the job, so you learn to adapt - and you keep a few fun icebreaker games in your back pocket to entertain your participants while you figure something out :)

Home for the holidays

Happy 2014! A new year brings a new round of blogging. These writings have been on hiatus the past few weeks, because I've been on a mini-hiatus from Peace Corps life. My holiday trip to America was both wonderful and strange. Wonderful: hugs and time with long-missed loved ones; being home to enjoy the Christmas season; catching up with friends and the amazing things they're doing; loooong daily hot showers; walking around barefoot in a clean and carpeted house; salmon-sushi-crumpets-pho-mushrooms-etc.; picking up the phone to easily communicate with whoever I wanted; running in the park without anyone staring at me; and so much more. Strange: being unable to remember not to kiss everyone on the cheek in greeting; inhabiting houses and stores that are always brightly lit, perfectly painted, and clean; having to worry about getting places on time and rushing out the door; everyone constantly connecting to smartphones - especially the habit of checking the weather each day; an ATM asking me if I wanted a receipt emailed to me; very wide city roads built for cars instead of people; and the idea of trying to explain the sheer comfort and wealth of my stateside life to my host family and friends in Peru.

Family

Friends

Christmas ships

Annnd a Macklemore concert

I think I was home for the perfect amount of time: long enough to not feel rushed, but short enough to stay within the "honeymoon" phase of culture shock and not have to really deal with fully adjusting back to life in the States. Since I was only there for a couple weeks, things like the reliance on cars or having to be punctual remained interesting novelties, and didn't have time to start really wearing on me. It was still hard to leave home again, where everything is so easy and comfortable, but the six months I have left in Peace Corps seems like nothing compared to the 18 months I've already completed - this is the home stretch. And I think having a little taste of America will help me better appreciate my last months in Peru, because I've been reminded of what I'll miss when I have to leave Cajabamba for good. For now, it's carnaval and summer camp season, so I've got to get settled back in and hit the ground running!