I left the field for good yesterday morning, and as exciting as it was to be headed back to the world of internet and showers, I'm going to miss some things about Ccasapata. Watching the sun rise every morning over the hills towards Paucara and listening to the obnoxious raucous of the local music have their charm.



In trying to figure out what I'm taking away from the experience, this article that Daria sent me a little while ago comes to mind. The article is by some dude named Ivan Illich and about how unproductive and even imperialist-minded it is for Americans, particularly college students with little expertise, to travel to Latin American in an attempt to 'help.' While I certainly don't see myself as here in Peru to try and 'fix things' I do think I've realized the importance of this work being done by Peruvians. A lot of the time I felt unable to help or participate because I don't understand a word of Quechua, or because I have absolutely zero experience growing potatoes. Yes, there are plenty of people in the U.S. with tons of experience with potatoes, but even they have no experience with the particularities of the environment here in Chopcca. Dissemination of new technologies to communities is really important, but even that process needs to involve the farmers, and I think needs to be done by people who are from the region.

That is certainly not to say that I think people from the U.S. have no role in the process of sustainable agriculture, poverty and malnutrition reduction, and adapting to climate change. Rather, we have an enormous role given how influential American policies and the American lifestyle are around the world economically and environmentally. I think it is much more daunting a task to try to address these things in the U.S., but I think ultimately that is a more productive route. And I think collaboration around the world is also really important.

But I think the things that I will really remember from this experience are more along the lines of how artificial my life is in some ways - on a day to day basis how little I really know about every convenience or process that is at work to result in the efficiency and comfort of my daily activities.

Last week I spent 5 days in the city of Huancayo, which feels like a different world. Between stuffing my face with chocolate cake and empanadas and pollo a la brasa, I went out to a disco with my co-worker, spent a day at a regional gastronomic festival, climbed the nearby mountain Huaytapallana, planted olluca and mashua in a community field outside the city, and somehow ended up on a date with a pro soccer player.

The whole trip really made me realize how different each part of Peru is. I met a group of guys from Lima on my tour up Huaytapallana. They had no idea that there was such a thing as purple corn - a crop that is very common around Huancayo. Compared to them, I know way more about life in the rural highlands. This also made me realize what a small subset of Americans I really know. My knowledge of agricultural towns in the U.S. stops at what I learned in the Jane Smiley book A Thousand Acres.

Near the top of Huataypallana

Lechon, relaxing in style at the gastronomic festival as they wait to be eaten

8 Agosto
    I’ve never before experienced so many emotions related to showering, but here I feel really anxious about how cold it is going to be, and also really excited because I am always so, so dirty and being clean sounds heavenly. I took one shower in the actual shower here, and have never been so cold in my life. Since then I’ve resorted to boiling a pot of water, and then dumping it into one of the plastic containers we have for doing laundry. I mix it with some cold tap water, and it is just large enough that I can put both my feet in, but not sit down. But it’s warm, and that is more wonderful than words can describe. By the time I’m done, the water is the tannish orange color of the dust that covers every surface in this world, but I feel reborn.
    I’m also learning a ton about what it’s actually like to work in communities. It’s frustrating! The community is incredibly closed. In some ways, the Peruvians who work with Yanapai are just as much outsiders as I am. They don’t have the same traditions or even language as the people here, and they definitely aren’t accepted as anything other than ‘them.’ The people here haven’t had a lot of education, especially the women, so trying to lecture to them really doesn’t work. They aren’t shy about talking over you or blatantly not paying attention. They also often learn the practices that Yanapai wants them to implement, but they don’t do them. It’s unclear exactly why, but they just have all these traditions that are really strong. And I just can’t relate to that.

2 Agosto
    Sometimes it feels like even the llamas and sheep and cows that I pass are staring at me. I haven’t seen a white person since I arrived over 2 weeks ago, and the people here don’t seem to know how to respond to me. The men often want to ask about farming or ranching in the U.S., which I unfortunately don’t know very much about. They are also interested in politics, but don’t seem to know much about U.S. policies except that they don’t like them. The women often make jokes about how I’m going to burn up in the sun, and how I probably have to do so much more work here than in my life in the U.S. I guess in a lot of ways they’re right - I don’t do nearly as much mundane housework back in Minnesota. I’m beginning to learn why appliances were invented. I find myself spending maybe 30% of my time here doing laundry, cooking, washing dishes, etc. In a way, since I don’t have a lot of other things to do, it is nice to spend my time doing all these things for my livelihood. I’m also more and more aware of how little I actually know how to do in my life. Here the people fix their own electricity, cope with dirty or sometimes no water, build their own houses, butcher their own meat, grow their own food, make many of their own clothes, change their own gas. There are so many people with so many skills in my life. With out all of them and their work, I wouldn’t know the first thing about the conveniences that make my life possible.
    The women also frequently ask me if I’m used to life here by now. I don’t really know what to say to that. I am used to it in that I’ve got a routine, I know my way around, I know how to use the stove and toilet in the house and I know where to buy eggs and cheese. But I could never really get used to life here. It’s too different. I think it’s actually really important for me to remember who I am and what I like to do. Just because I’m in Peru doesn’t change who I am and what I enjoy. Sure I have to be flexible about some things (no matter how badly I want it, there will never be a hot shower), but it would just be confusing to try and pretend like I fit in here. Yesterday I went for a run to Sotopampa, a nearby town just down the dirt road. The road workers suddenly decided that since I wasn’t wearing field clothes it was okay to whistle and cat call. Everyone I passed looked at me like running for exercise was the strangest thing they had ever seen in their lives. But fuck it, I like to run and I’m getting tired of everyone looking at me like I’m an alien. Even if I am the first person they’ve ever seen from the U.S., they’ve now seen me for 2 and a half weeks so get over it already.

3 Agosto
A list of skills I’m acquiring that will be most likely be useless in the developed world:
    How to make a toilet flush when the water has stopped running
    How to rapidly peel potatoes (for every meal)
    How to water the (dirt) floor
    How to effectively hand wash everything I own
    How to say “no” in Quechua
    How to comfortably sit 5 across in a normal sized car
    How to tell whether my Soles notes are counterfeit
    How to butcher a lamb
    How to prepare the organs of said lamb
    How to butcher a guinea pig
    How to remove the husks of quinoa
    How to coat the outside of pots with oil before cooking over an open fire
    How to cure alpaca meat
    How to select a good pig for purchase, based on the color of its teeth and whether or not it has bacteria in its throat
    How to adorn a cow for the festival of Santiago
    How to make adobe bricks for housing construction
    How to prepare a pachamanca (oven dug in the ground and lined with stones that cook the food)
    How to not eat the skins of any fruits or vegetables
   

23 July
    Today I accompanied Annali to a nearby town to instruct a group of women in proper nutrition for their babies. The meeting was supposed to start at 11am, but only three of the women showed up on time. An hour and a half later everyone was finally ready to go, but the man who was leading the session - a doctor paid by the government - did not seem to garner much respect from the women. He eventually managed to explain there there were three groups the women needed to focus on: protein, carbohydrates (for strength and weight) and vitamins. The problem is that the women don’t know what any of those things are, nor that feeding them more protein and vitamins would help them. Many of the women themselves are malnourished, and seem unable to think about anything except the immediate present. Often they feed themselves first, and refuse to take their children to the clinic to be checked for parasites (which cause severe malnutrition). Apparently the nurses at the clinics often get extremely frustrated with the mothers and express their frustration in less productive ways. I, too, don’t think I could patiently work with this group of people without expressing some frustration in an unproductive manner.
    About half of the women at the meeting seemed to be a good few years younger than me. It’s so weird to see them with babies strapped to their backs, knitting or nursing. They almost look like kids themselves, but they know another whole side to being a woman that I can’t even imagine.

22 July
    Today I got to see a guinea pig slaughter. For weddings, the family of the groom has to give a bunch of cuy to the family of the bride. When we arrived, we walked up the the river where about 50 family members were bent over the water scraping hair off of the dead cuy. Next the digestive tract is removed, and so you can see a whole bunch of stomachs and intestines, with formed turds, floating around in the water. The eyes are scraped out, the mouth cut open, a bunch of other gross details. Then the whole pig is thoroughly rinsed and they’re all piled up like pink bean bags. At the end all the pigs are counted, but it is a game to have hidden some. The man counting the cuy shouts out how many are missing and everyone has to find the remaining ones. They are hidden under people’s jackets, in boots, under rocks, literally everywhere. I should also mention that all the while that animals are being cut up and innards removed, several family members are walking around distributing handfuls of sweet popped corn and sips of soda into the sticky hands. Once all the guinea pigs are rounded up, they’re carried up to the family farm to be boiled for a few minutes. Then the remaining organs are separated from the body (not thrown away, mind you), the ribs are broken off, and the feet ripped off. Now they’re ready to be made into the matrimonial stew.
    So I watched all of this, feeling a mix of both complete disgust and fascination, and the fascination completely won out. I just kept thinking that never in my wildest dreams could I have invented a scene of guinea pig preparation like this. How can I possibly still be on earth. The family was incredibly welcoming, and we hung out on the farm all afternoon and had lunch with them - no meat this time, it was the carbohydrate trifecta of pasta, potatoes and rice that seem to be all I get to eat these days. I guess that’s how iron and zinc deficiencies occur…
    While we were eating and chatting one of the men asked where I was from and when I said the United States (los Estados Unidos) he replied, los Estados Judidos. I was caught off guard so I didn’t get a chance to stand up for myself at all. I just said, Si, yo se. As much as I hate that he generalized all the people of the U.S. with the actions of the few powerful, I don’t disagree with him (not that he even knew what he was talking about). I hate the way the U.S. does things. And even more, I hate that anyone would think that I agree with my country’s foreign policy.

July 21
    I got to go to a Chopcca wedding! The precession filed down from the hills into the town, settling out front of the legal building (there was another wedding taking place, so they had to wait a bit). All the women were decked out in their finest skirts and cape things, with as many bright colors as exists and can simultaneously be displayed. The groom however was wearing jeans and a leather jacket that said CAT on the back. He could have been working at a garage. Harp and violin music was played, food was eaten, and all the while a pickup football game was happening just being the wedding party. The ball would frequently roll into the middle of the festivities, and would be returned as if it was no biggie. No football game should be halted for a wedding.  Then it was time for the wedding, and usually only the couple and their parents go into the little room to actually sign the legal documents. Somehow, Edgar and I got to go in also, which was really kind of awkward. The whole time the couple looked totally stoic and I’d even go so far as to say terrified. I don’t know how old the guy was, but the girl was 17, and they already had a baby so that might explain it. No one else seemed to think the lack of joy was unusual though. Everyone here gets married around 17-20. People keep asking me if I’m a senorita or a senora, and when I tell them I’m a senorita, they tell me that I really have to get on finding a husband. Nope.

20 July
    The family invited us into their tiny kitchen house. It was about 1m x 4m, made of mud bricks and a tin roof, and we crammed all 8 us in there. Guinea pigs ran freely about the floor, making the high-pitched squeaking noise I remember hearing from my childhood pets. There was a fire in the corner that filled the room with smoke. The mother of the family, only 26 years old though I can't remember her name, offered us soup, boiled potatoes, and chuno. Chuno is a way of preserving potatoes, that allows them to be eaten for up to 10 years! The potatoes are first soaked in water and then dried out in the sun, and the total process takes about 20 days.
    We had gotten up early to visit and collect data from the families who have volunteered to work with Yanapai. This particular family was the first of the day. We weighed small sacks of potatoes as well as guinea pigs. We will return in a month or so to compare the weights. The heavier the better, because the longer the potatoes maintain their water weight, the longer they can be stored and eaten. The same with the guinea pigs - the longer they maintain body weight without water, the more nutrition they can provide for the family. The storage time of these foods is especially important, since this region is very dry, and so food can only be grown during the rainy months between September and April. Climate change has further reduced the rainy season, causing severe drought and food shortages. Data from 20 different species of potatoes and 4 different species of guinea pigs will be compared, to determine the best species given the water shortages. Of course, the study will not suggest that only the one, best species be cultivated - many potato species will be grown in the same field at the same time, as per traditional practices. This helps to minimize pests and nutrient depletion of the soil.
    It’s going to be hard to go back to school after living like this. Adjusting after last summer was hard, and my life last summer resembled my life in the U.S. much more than my life right now does. In a way, I think it’s impossible to see the luxuries of the Western world in the same way once you really make yourself see the rest of the world. Something I’ve been noticing recently is how little I actually do for myself. If there wasn’t running water, if there wasn’t trash pickup, if there weren’t grocery stores that supplied me with food and department stores that supplied me with clothes, I would be so, so lost. I almost feel like a useless human being in that I don’t even know how to take care of myself in the most basic ways. I guess that’s what society gives us; it saves us time so that we can focus on all the other things that we focus on. And I guess that’s good? That has allowed modern medicine, and mapping the human genome, and combustion engines and the internet. But what about all the people in our easy society who don’t contribute to any of the things that improve the world. (Or maybe change the world is a better word.) I don’t mean the people in our society whose lives aren’t easy. I mean the people who trade stocks, or sell houses and cars, or make high fructose corn syrup. How do they find any meaning in their lives?
   

19 July
    After 19 hours of traveling, Edgar and I pulled up to a house made of mud bricks with a tin roof. We’re in Ccasapata, Peru, several hours drive from the closest store, let alone the closest internet cafe. The house is indistinguishable from any of the other houses on the dirt street, including a tin door that is only about 4 feet tall. Inside, there is a storage room and an open area with a little garden, a clothes line, a sink, and a small building with a toilet. A ladder leads up to a wooden ledge that is build over the storage room looking out onto the open area. The ledge has three tin doors, each about 4 feet tall and 1.5 feet wide, that open into the bedrooms. When I arrived the water was off, which meant no toilet or sink or showers (though the showers are freezing cold when they do work). As I put my suitcase into my room, a scuttling noise in the corner alerted me to my roommate - a large, light brown rat descending from the ceiling (which is actually just a plastic covering under the tin roofing). I have named him Mateo, after a friend I met in Cusco.
    Well, I thought, this is my chance to put my money where my mouth is. Most people interested in development, including myself, preach the importance of immersing yourself in the community in order to make a project effective. Many philanthropy groups throw money from afar at buildings that will never be used, or at systems that the local culture rejects. Here in Cchopca, several different NGOs and development organizations have built guinea pig (cuy) pens and left, without taking the time to monitor the effects of the project, or even to understand whether the pens were needed in the first place. (After being here only one day, it seems to me that better irrigation would be far more useful.) But Yanapai actually stays here, working with the community. Edgar has worked here for 20 years and knows most of the townspeople, as well as all of the local officials. This was one of the reasons I wanted to work with this organization. So when the meals of bread and jam get old, and the dirt floors turn everything I own a rusty color of brown, I need to remember that there are strings and strings of dried mushrooms hanging in the kitchen. How cool is that?!