Well over two years have passed since the last entry and my last visit to Peru, but another return has finally happened. After two-and-a-half days in transit with a bulging laptop case, unwieldy backpack, and two giant, 50+ pound suitcases containing, among other things, gifts, sample sweaters, and eighty pairs of self-proclaimed “wedgie free” underwear for the Ñañas (thanks, Mom), I was relieved to finally reach Arequipa late Thursday night. Not expecting anyone to be waiting for me except Max—my host dad from previous visits—I was surprised to hear my name called out as I crossed the tarmac and glanced up at the lookout railing to see balloons bobbing and Ñañas waving below.
We had agreed, I thought, that they wouldn't try to meet me at the airport since it would be late when my plane arrived, and would wait instead until the next morning to have our reunion at the workshop. They, however, had other ideas, and told me the next morning that they had nodded when Maria, the social worker who works with the church in Alto Cayma, had told them it would be too late to go to the airport, but apparently their feet just started walking and took them there. “You would need some pretty strong brakes to stop us once we get going,” explained Inés, and I nodded in agreement.
The smells, the street sounds, the assortment of people in traditional Andean clothing – wool skirts with leg warmers and straw hats over dark braids – mixed in with Arequipeñans in jeans and t-shirts, even the mustached fare collector hanging out of the Primero de Junio combi on my ride up to Alto Cayma are the same as when I left. But the babies of the Ñañas are no longer babies; new commercial centers have popped up around the center of town; and the workshop has moved to the larger space next door previously occupied by the wood shop – reminders that time has passed and things have changed. This was to be expected, but I was shocked Friday morning as the combi neared the workshop and I realized that the road hadn't switched from asphalt to the bumpy dirt and gravel road as it used to. After all of the years of campaign promises of “Pavement in Alto Cayma” painted on the stone walls along the way, paved roads had finally reached this impoverished neighborhood on the outskirts of town. Proof that progress, however slow in coming, is possible.
I was a little nervous after my last Skype session with the knitters when they promised that they had lots of surprises waiting for me, but I am happy to report that so far the surprises have been more along the lines of balloons and a proposed trip to the beach rather than mid-life crises, loss of interest in knitting or fractures within the group. There were some new faces when I arrived at the workshop Friday morning, but most of them were the familiar faces from previous years and those that weren't there I have been promised will return when there is work. The ladies kept up their knitting and crocheting as they shared news about the workshop and their families, discussed plans for the months ahead, and gave me a brief Quechua lesson. Once Frida and Teresa had finished distributing Field soda crackers and Coca-Cola to everyone, we raised our plastic cups and toasted our next project. ¡Adelante!
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