A Day in the Life

[I've been trying to break all that I've been experiencing into bite-sized pieces for busy lives, but this is the best I was able to do. I kow my mom will read it, but for the rest of you, just do what you can!]

Originally I had planned to write a description of a typical day here, but after two weeks, such a thing still does not seem to exist. Instead I will give you an account of my day Friday...I guess the atypicalness of it constitutes a certain normalcy. You can imagine the rest.

I woke up this morning after a night of strange dreams (the dreams are one constant since I've been here, I think because of eating spicy foods late at night?). I usually begin to wake up around 6:00 am when the kids have to get up for school and Nicolas begins shouting and Brauni (the Yorkshire) takes off running up and down the hallway barking like mad. I stubbornly cling to half-sleep until about 7:45 when I get up and shower then wander groggily into the kitchen for breakfast, trying to shift my brain back into Spanish mode after a night of at least half-English dreaming. Breakfast usually consists of fresh bread from the bakery down the street, cheese, jam, sometimes oatmeal, sometimes eggs, Gloria (the liquid drinkable yogurt which I love), and tea. Lately it's just been Roxana (my host mom) and me at the table, and we tend to extend the breakfast hour into 2 with long talks covering many topics, but which tend to return quite frequently to the status of women in Peru (much more on that later).
Today I ended up getting out the door by 9:45 and walked a couple blocks to the busy intersection down the hill to catch the combi. Combis are the Arequipeñan version of public transportation--large, beat-up vans with seats for approximately 25 and a driver, but which squeeze in as many humans as are willing to pay the 0.60 soles (roughly 20 cents) to ride to their corner of choice. On lucky days (only one so far), it's the Primero de Junio B which drops me off just outside the Church; the rest of the time I walk up the hill from the corner where I am dropped on the Enace route.
Today was an Enace day, but only in ends, not means. As on every other day, I was staring out the window at beatiful Mt. Misti looming in the distance, The Clash's "Train in Vain" blaring over the speakers (followed by "I Want You To Want Me," "Can't Buy Me Love," and some reggaeton). Soon, though, I noticed we weren't on our usual route up Avenida Bolegnesi, flying instead through the middle of the countryside just outside town. The other passengers seemed to have noticed the same thing (except for the middle-aged man asleep in the seat across from mine). Only the driver and coin collector leaning agaist the door seemed unconcerned. A mother sitting behind me with her toddler made some comment to the young man collecting fares, but he just shrugged. I wasn't too worried, because my stop was farther up the line, and sure enough we managed to get back on the route in time for me to get down at my usual stop. The scenery was a nice change from the usually urban landscape, but I did feel bad for the passengers who had to walk back down the hill to wherever they'd intended to be dropped.
Once down, I hiked up to the church and stopped in to greet the señoras. Mornings are spent knitting on the machines, so there is less room for conversation. I got out my own feeble attempt at a scarf, and started knitting away/playing with the toddler of one of the ladies until Maria the social worker stopped in. Spotting me at my knitting, she asked if I would like to accompany her to some location I didn't quite catch. This is also becoming a constant. "Emily, quieres acompañarme a _______?" To which I always respond, "Sí," then follow her out the door walking in whatever direction. The walk can be anywhere from ten to 30 minutes and in literally any direction to whichever family has requested her services. Going on house visits has been really helpful to get a broader view of Alto Cayma and the issues with which the people are struggling (I promise to go into more detail on all of this in future postings). Today, after about 15 minutes walking down the hill in the sun, we found ourselves at the office of Natali, the pro bono lawyer paid by the parish to handle cases of domestic violence and family law for the local women, services desperately needed in the community where fathers frequently abandon their wives and children and domestic abuse is nothing out of the ordinary. Maria tended to some business with Natali, then were given a ride back up to the church by Carelia, stopping on the way in search of a working internet connection and printer to print out necessary documents.
Once we returned to the church, I began my campaign to accomplish the two goals I had laid out for the day: to nail down details for the scheduled "photo shoot" on Monday of the products to be put on the website and to schedule an appointment to visit the Fair Trade group already operating in Arequipa. After visiting the site, we can begin to assess if this is the direction we wish to take, or if we will set out on a different route, so it's important that we get moving on it as soon as possible. The first item was accomplished without any problem, but the scheduling of the visit didn't go as smoothly as planned. I sat down with Maria armed with phone numbers, websites, and brochures only to find out that the internet was down and the phone line not working for some reason. We'll just wait a bit, she told me. So we did.
In the meantime, the knitters were planning yet another performance of a traditional dance to thank a visiting volunteer who has worked with them over the years. Unaware that this was happening, I sat listening to the music with Maria, waiting for the next move (a little impatiently, I admit). After a little while, we set about creating a display of a new line of cards the ladies have begun making with yarn--very beautiful. Again, I was unsure exactly what was going on, only that someone named Maria Josefa from Inglaterra was going to come and look at the cards.
Once the cards were laid out, Maria once again asked me that familiar question of accompanying her somewhere, and I, of course, said "Sí." We set out walking to yet another unknown location, this time ending up at a nearby nursery where a British couple and their grown Peruvian foster son were playing with children from the area. It turns out the two of them have, over the course of 20 years, opened a number of nurseries in Lima and Arequipa which focus on mental stimulation in addition to basic nutritional needs. After brief introductions, the five of us walked back to the church where the señoras were busy setting out chairs and getting the music ready. Once everyone was seated, Frida entered, dancing a dance from the nearby Colca Valley in a beautiful dress typical to the area. At the end of the dance, Maria gave a short speech of thanks and birthday wishes to Maria Josefa (actually Mary Joyce, as it turned out) then the ladies lined up to give hugs and wish her a happy birthday. Once this was all over, everyone went back to work, and I found that Maria had disappeared.
I waited a while longer, hoping to catch her and make the phone call, but when she returned, she informed me that there was still no phone line. I had promised Roxana I would be home in time for lunch at 2:00, so I had to leave without setting up the appointment. Maria assured me would be able to do so Monday, but we'll see...
I returned home via Enace, seated next to a man with a full-sized tv covered in an old towel sitting on his lap and a lady in business clothes with a baby. This time, the route was followed and I returned home in time for lunch with Roxana and Max.
Lunch is the biggest meal of the day, generally eaten sometime between 2 and 3:30. There is usually a first course of soup or some type of salad or avacado dish, followed by a main plate. This plate always, always, includes rice, and more often than not some type of potatoes (the variety of potatoes here is staggering). Today was rice with chicken in a sauce made out of ají, a spicy pepper also found in a good majority of the dishes here. In spite of what we were told before coming about Americans being viewed as rude for our speedy dining habits, I am always the last one eating and am given no end of grief about this by Max.
After lunch we sat and chatted for a bit, then I took a short nap. The kids returned home at 3:30, so I played with them for a while then we sat and watched cartoons with one of their cousins. At first I avoided watching the mostly American tv with the kids, but it's turned out to be good practice as they are all dubbed in Spanish and the characters speak quickly and use more colloquial language. Sometimes a little painful to watch, realizing that this is what is being exported around the world, but...
Ater I had had my fill of Cartoon Network in Spanish, I set out to journal the day's events in Spanish. It's still difficult and I sometimes let myself off the hook when I have had an especially emotional day, but learning the vocabulary necessary to describe the days events and to express what I think and feel about them has been invaluable and a step towards being able to express them verbally. Still, it can be a headache, and I have to make myself take the time to do it.
Dinner is always late, usually after 8:00. Last night was nothing too elaborate, alphabet soup and grilled ham sandwiches, but we had a good time listening to Max's stories of his childhood and watching Nicolas reenact elaborate scenes from various movies. I really enjoy my family here the more I get to know them and understand their sense of humor.
After dinner, I sent a few emails, finished up my journal, thought of all my loved ones scattered around the world, and went to sleep exhausted.
And that is a day in the life.