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.
Saturday, July 28, 2012
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.
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.
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?
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?!
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?!
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