Illness...Again

Originally Written March 29, 2010

Dear Readers,

It seems like these past few months I have been traveling a lot. I don’t know if that is actually true, but maybe it’s because I feel inclined to go to my regional capital more since it’s rainy and cloudy at site. But this past week was also travel-filled. I went down to a site a few hours outside of Lima to help a fellow volunteer with a project called “Builders Beyond Borders” which is made of groups of high school students who travel to developing parts of the world during their Spring Break and help with construction for a week. In the case Mark, this Peace Corps volunteer I was helping, the project was installing or repairing pipe so more houses could have running water. There didn’t seem to be any shortage of help with forty-some high school students, plus their adult leaders, and several Peace Corps volunteers who showed up, not to mention a few people from the town who lent a helping hand.

Although I was prepared to dig, and did fill in for a couple of people on occasion, I ended up being the photographer for the week, for both the B3 (as it’s called among the group members and PCVs) and the Peace Corps. I still haven’t looked at all of the 1300+ photos I took over the course of that week, but I think some of them are among the best shots I’ve ever gotten so far. One of the adult supervisors for the B3 kids was himself a professional photography, who proved to be both a good source of advice and a good supporter when I had doubts about some of what I was doing. He reminded me that photography is an important way to get a message out there.

For me personally, it was a fun week because I got to see Mark’s site, which I thought was beautiful, even though it’s almost as different from where I live as it possible: My site is teeming with plants and the color green, and rains for months out of the year, whereas his is also mountainous, like mine, but a completely dry and dusty desert. I also got the impression the food was pretty good where he lived. At least twice I asked Mark and someone else who lived in the area if the food we got every day was pretty representative of the everyday food people got, and they said it was. If that’s true, then I can see why people are more fond of Peruvian food than I am.

At 7 AM One morning as I was finishing breakfast Patrick called me to tell me about a storm that struck the area where we live. He said my town was hit the hardest and went on to explain that the torrential rain someone knocked the water system offline, lightning had struck a tower and knocked out electricity in our towns, and a landslide finally cut off transportation a good distance from my town. He said in fact, that he had been walking since 2 AM and had yet to see a car that could give him a lift. I told him that I think God doesn’t want people living in the mountains, and Patrick said that apparently some people in the Peace Corps have more authority then God. I guess that’s as good as explanation as any.

After arriving back in Piura I packed up and prepared the hard walk back up to site. However, I got sick and after feeling faint after walking down four flights of stairs with my backpack and a heavy bag of supplies back to site, I decided that I was in no shape to walk back to site from where the landside struck. So I went back to bed and ended up sleeping another five hours. At noon I woke up dehydrated but after rallying the energy to go buy some liquids and a roll to eat I felt better. However, the bouts of dizziness and feverish brain shakes that stuck with me all day confirmed that staying at the hostel for another 24 hours was a wise decision.

The next day after more rest and some medicine I was finally able to leave. Much to my surprise and delight the landslide that Patrick had described was not stopping the truck from getting back to my site. However, we got stuck twice and for all the time it took to get the truck back on track I probably could have made back faster on foot. Still, I was happy to wait and not have to carry everything.

Patrick had told me that the water system and the electricity had been repaired. It’s true about the water system, although right now for another reason the water is off again and the only person who has the key to open the box to fix it is out of town. The electricity, however, is spottier than a leopard. In some houses in La Rinconada it’s strong, but in others, including where I live, it flickers on and off. I try to avoid using my computer at moments when it’s flickering, and I think it’s already ruined my less-than-year-old computer battery, which irritated me until I remembered that I’m not the first person to lose something valuable through circumstance in the Peace Corps.

Today I finished the book “Three Cups of Tea” about a fellow named Greg Mortenson who has been building schools in Pakistan and Afghanistan for children for over a decade. His love and dedication to his work humbled me as a volunteer. I know that could never come close to achieving something like that. But the other thing is I’m not sure if that’s what I want to do with my life. In fact, I’m almost positive it’s not. Right after I finished that book, I picked up “The Soloist” and read about people who have started up shelters for the mentally ill. Again I felt guilty that I don’t have a real service-work drive in me. It’s something I’ve struggled with a lot in the Peace Corps. I hadn’t done much service work to begin before joining, and it hasn’t felt like my calling in the time since I’ve sworn in as a volunteer. This has been very hard for me to understand and come to terms with. I haven’t felt like I’ve worked hard enough, but lots of times I don’t feel the motivation either. People have said time and again that for your service, do what you are passionate about, but I don’t know if I can do what I’m passionate about through my work in the Peace Corps. I’m not passionate about teaching or health or construction, although I’ve helped with all of that so far in the Peace Corps.

At the same time, I feel nervous about where I’m going next: into the unknown. I know I won’t be doing a third year because I feel that two will be plenty for me, but I’m not planning on going to grad school yet because the only thing I thought I might want to follow up on in grad school, linguistics, I’ve decided not to worry about because it’s not that route I want to take.

When I think rationally, I know I’m still helping people, and that just because I have no big projects planned, that’s fine. I think my personality and interests about what I want out of life are fine, if perhaps a bit unconventional. But I’ve had a hard time squaring that with what I’ve feel like someone in the Peace Corps should do. I’m trying not to waste any more energy worry about that, but it’s hard to do sometimes.

Tristan

Sorry For the Delay

Originally Written March 10, 2010

Dear Readers,

I apologize for the delay in writing. If anyone was wondering, I am fine and in good health. I’ve back and forth between site and Piura a lot this past month or so and that hasn’t made it easy for me to write, since I don’t like writing while I’m in Piura. But no excuses.

However, I have been busy. I’ve been learning quite a bit about myself and in the ways I am productive in life. A lot of it has been and continues to be a surprise. However, I’ll have to save that for another post perhaps, because this is a long story about getting back to site.

A few weeks ago I ended spending a personal record of eight days straight in Piura. This wasn’t my intention. I was planning on going back on day four after having rested and running various errands I needed to run. I was also there for the purpose of getting sunlight. Being in the rain, mud, and grey clouds was bothering me and I decided I’d had enough of it. However, I had to stay one more day because I decided to check to see if I could find computer monitors for my library project. A man who sells computer monitors had some available and I agreed to meet him the following day. Computer monitors purchased and left with another local volunteer for safe keeping until my library is ready, I set off for site the following day.

I left that morning at eight and I found a seat on the one truck heading back and settled in for the trip back. However, it was not to be. The truck left Morropón and continued onwards a piece until it suddenly broke down. Fortunately we were not yet out of cell phone range (close, though) and the driver called for a mechanic. We ended up sitting around for a couple of hours until it was decided that no one was coming. Since I was closer to Morropón, and thus closer to Piura, I set off back to the city on foot, planning to catch a ride with which ever vehicle going that direction I found first. After around twenty minutes of walking, I found a Telmex truck in a tiny caserio (rural village) with two cable men. I asked them if they were headed to Morropón and if so, could I catch a ride. They said yes to both question, but told me they were finishing their rounds. I asked them how long they thought it would be and the said maybe twenty minutes’ work in another village. Sounded fine to me. Besides, it’s not as if I had my choice of vehicles.

The two men drove over to a caserio named Casa Blanca (white house) to either install or repair a satellite dish. While one of the looked for the house, I waited with the older of the two cable men and listened as he told me stories about places in Peru, particularly of Cuzco, where he was from. He said if I haven’t seen Machu Picchu (which I haven’t yet) I’m not allowed to die. Eventually he got tired of waiting and we drove over to see what was taking so long. All this time people thought I was also a Telmex cable man and a couple asked me questions about service and bills or something like that. It was a strange feeling for me.

While the two men worked in this house that had a store with it, some of the men sitting outside of it treated me to a few beers and a Pepsi and wanted to ask me questions about the United States, about why Peruvian food was all natural and healthier (it probably is all natural, but a balanced diet is an unfamiliar concept) and wanted me to translate crude words out of English for them. By the time the cable men finished it was getting dark and I couldn’t read my books I had brought with me. The older man put in some Michael Jackson songs and asked me if I was sad Michael had passed away. Although I don’t like hearing about anyone’s death, I wasn’t too crushed by Michael’s because I never listened to any of his music. But I said yes anyways because I didn’t want to disagree with the guy. They agreed to take me all the way to Piura itself, since they were headed that way, and refused payment when I brought the topic up. It was seven in the evening by the time I got back, but I still thought it was a fairly decent day. I got to see some beautiful landscapes, was both in good health and good spirits, and everyone I met was very friendly. It’s true I would have enjoyed spending time in Piura, had I known, but I would have spent most of it on the computer anyways. Not that I think that’s bad.

I decided to sleep in the next day because I was tired from spending all day driving to caserios. Also I wanted to give the driver a day to get his truck fixed. That night I dreamt a stray dog was attacking me while I was sitting. I swung my elbow at it with all my might but missed. I did not, however, miss the cement wall I was sleeping next to. The jolt of pain woke me up. After realizing what had happened and feeling kind of stupid, I decided I wished someone had been watching because it would have been great to get an outsiders version of what they had seen so they could describe it back to me. My elbow was sore for several days afterwards. Other than that, nothing happened worth writing about. I went and saw the remake of the movie “The Wolfman” but it sucked.

The morning I was to leave again I woke up sick and nauseous. By the time I felt better I was leaving much later than I had planned, and the people in Morropón told me conflicting stories about the truck. Some said it had left and wouldn’t come back, others said it hadn’t come yet. It turns out the latter was true, and had I waited I could have gone back to site. But I didn’t feel like taking that chance and spending another day in Bajo Piura Limbo, so I headed back to Piura and waited another day.

By this time even I was tired of the city. Despite how much I’ve come to appreciate good food, hot water, internet, and a toilet that flushes, I was also missing my routine at site and my own bed where I could rest. I was also tired of spending the money that restaurants and the hostel was costing me. I wasn’t complaining about it, but I simply needed decompression time.

I made sure to leave early enough to catch the truck and made it back up to site with no further incident. A few days after I got there I was able to continue on with some art classes and building the latrine for my host family with Teofilo’s help.

And there you have it. A few days in the life of a PCV.

Tristan