The past five days have pulled me out of my head and grounded me in my real life here in Peru – with our first YAV retreat in Huánuco, an adventurous trip into la selva (rainforest) and a team building retreat with Paz y Esperanza. Our YAV coordinator Debbie appropriately named the YAV retreat Kuskalla, meaning "together with strength" in Quechua. The past several days have been just that - a time to share with, learn from, depend on and care for… friends.
On Saturday morning I left the house just before 5:00am with my host father to meet the other YAVs at the bus station. We crossed the slightly unstable walking bridge that crosses the Huallaga River and brings us into the busy part of town. The bridge was empty and still, without the rush of pedestrian traffic I usually encounter when I walk to and from work. My host father calls it the “bridge of smiles” because everyone bumps elbows or slides into the railing while crossing.
As we entered one of the three-wheeled mototaxis, I realized it was my first time experiencing this hour, outside in the dark and silence. I loved it - the chill, the peacefulness. I felt a certain childlike anticipation to meet the other YAVs. It felt like the early hours of Christmas morning, waiting for everyone else to wake up. However, most likely this is also the hour when darkened rooms are a place of violence...
While I slept comfortably in the safety of my home, Debbie and the five other YAVs had crossed the Andes in the middle of the night, on swerving, crowded, overheated buses. I was reminded how rough the ride is when I met the first group from Huancayo, an artesian town eight hours south of Huanuco. Leslie suffered from an ear infection and Sean hadn’t slept a wink with no room for his long legs. Katie saved us with her enthusiasm and kept up a nice conversation with my host father as we waited in the bus station for the sun to rise.
The others from Lima arrived an hour later. I felt so relieved when Debbie and her husband Harry, Alex and Michael stepped off the bus. Each had separate paths, experiences and obstacles that led up to the reunion, but we were here, kuskalla, in my hometown in Peru.
Our final step was a ride out of town to La Granja, the farm land owned by Paz y Esperanza, where we stayed for the weekend. I watched the reaction of my friends from Lima as we entered el campo (countryside) with its lush green vegetation, rolling river and welcoming mountains. I’m getting used to this road passing colonial towns and haciendas. I enjoyed watching how the scenery entered the minds and eyes of my friends. “Yup! This is my home guys! Check it out!” I wanted to blurt out, but instead sat quietly enjoying the scene myself.
Amidst our luggage and two guitars were two care packages that Debbie brought from Lima, from my parents and very supportive couple from my church. I pretended to act patient and exert some self-control, but soon after arriving at the farmhouse, I snuck up to my room and tore open the boxes. After the anticipation during the morning, it really was like Christmas!
My parents’ gift was perfect, several bags of dried fruit, granola bars and travel tissues - the absolute essentials! My friends from church sent Halloween candy, rice krispy treats in the shape of maple leaves and dried orange slices. I was tempted to hoard the chocolate but remembered kuskalla. I brought down the bags of M&Ms during a competitive game of “Spoons,” a fast-paced card game that we taught the three girls living at La Granja.
Each night we gathered to share our most and least grateful moment of the day or, more generally, our joys and concerns. On the first night I shared that my joy was meeting everyone at the bus station. What drained the life out of me, however, was a fleeting moment during dinner, when my eyes met one of the girls in the entrance to the kitchen. Just a few weeks before I had spent the weekend with her and her baby. As our eyes met I could feel a million questions silently rushing toward me. “Why aren’t you sitting at our table tonight? Who are all those people you’re with? Why aren’t you speaking Spanish? Who are you? You seem different.”
I feared her judgment and wanted to reassure her that I’m the same person who picked flowers with her and gave her a wet towel when she had a fever. “I care about you!” I wanted to convey, but instead I was consumed by the loud conversation at my dinner table, realizing that I would feel torn between two worlds during most of the weekend.
When I shared my concern, the others responded with compassion and suggested we spend some time with the girls the next day. The following afternoon was wonderful! We sang Spanish praise songs under a bamboo hut near the goldfish pond, walked through the herb garden picking strawberries and smelling basil, mint and rosemary and visited the rabbits and cuy (guinea pigs).
Later during our game of “Spoons,” each person to lose received M&Ms sent from my friends at home. Little did they know that their gift of candy would go a long way to console one of the girls who lost early on. I felt my worlds had finally connected, if just for a moment - my friends and family in New York, my fellow YAVs and my new family at La Granja. I intentionally avoided reaching for a spoon, so I could remove myself from the game and observe how wonderful a blessing I had received.
On Saturday morning I left the house just before 5:00am with my host father to meet the other YAVs at the bus station. We crossed the slightly unstable walking bridge that crosses the Huallaga River and brings us into the busy part of town. The bridge was empty and still, without the rush of pedestrian traffic I usually encounter when I walk to and from work. My host father calls it the “bridge of smiles” because everyone bumps elbows or slides into the railing while crossing.
As we entered one of the three-wheeled mototaxis, I realized it was my first time experiencing this hour, outside in the dark and silence. I loved it - the chill, the peacefulness. I felt a certain childlike anticipation to meet the other YAVs. It felt like the early hours of Christmas morning, waiting for everyone else to wake up. However, most likely this is also the hour when darkened rooms are a place of violence...
While I slept comfortably in the safety of my home, Debbie and the five other YAVs had crossed the Andes in the middle of the night, on swerving, crowded, overheated buses. I was reminded how rough the ride is when I met the first group from Huancayo, an artesian town eight hours south of Huanuco. Leslie suffered from an ear infection and Sean hadn’t slept a wink with no room for his long legs. Katie saved us with her enthusiasm and kept up a nice conversation with my host father as we waited in the bus station for the sun to rise.
The others from Lima arrived an hour later. I felt so relieved when Debbie and her husband Harry, Alex and Michael stepped off the bus. Each had separate paths, experiences and obstacles that led up to the reunion, but we were here, kuskalla, in my hometown in Peru.
Our final step was a ride out of town to La Granja, the farm land owned by Paz y Esperanza, where we stayed for the weekend. I watched the reaction of my friends from Lima as we entered el campo (countryside) with its lush green vegetation, rolling river and welcoming mountains. I’m getting used to this road passing colonial towns and haciendas. I enjoyed watching how the scenery entered the minds and eyes of my friends. “Yup! This is my home guys! Check it out!” I wanted to blurt out, but instead sat quietly enjoying the scene myself.
Amidst our luggage and two guitars were two care packages that Debbie brought from Lima, from my parents and very supportive couple from my church. I pretended to act patient and exert some self-control, but soon after arriving at the farmhouse, I snuck up to my room and tore open the boxes. After the anticipation during the morning, it really was like Christmas!
My parents’ gift was perfect, several bags of dried fruit, granola bars and travel tissues - the absolute essentials! My friends from church sent Halloween candy, rice krispy treats in the shape of maple leaves and dried orange slices. I was tempted to hoard the chocolate but remembered kuskalla. I brought down the bags of M&Ms during a competitive game of “Spoons,” a fast-paced card game that we taught the three girls living at La Granja.
Each night we gathered to share our most and least grateful moment of the day or, more generally, our joys and concerns. On the first night I shared that my joy was meeting everyone at the bus station. What drained the life out of me, however, was a fleeting moment during dinner, when my eyes met one of the girls in the entrance to the kitchen. Just a few weeks before I had spent the weekend with her and her baby. As our eyes met I could feel a million questions silently rushing toward me. “Why aren’t you sitting at our table tonight? Who are all those people you’re with? Why aren’t you speaking Spanish? Who are you? You seem different.”
I feared her judgment and wanted to reassure her that I’m the same person who picked flowers with her and gave her a wet towel when she had a fever. “I care about you!” I wanted to convey, but instead I was consumed by the loud conversation at my dinner table, realizing that I would feel torn between two worlds during most of the weekend.
When I shared my concern, the others responded with compassion and suggested we spend some time with the girls the next day. The following afternoon was wonderful! We sang Spanish praise songs under a bamboo hut near the goldfish pond, walked through the herb garden picking strawberries and smelling basil, mint and rosemary and visited the rabbits and cuy (guinea pigs).
Later during our game of “Spoons,” each person to lose received M&Ms sent from my friends at home. Little did they know that their gift of candy would go a long way to console one of the girls who lost early on. I felt my worlds had finally connected, if just for a moment - my friends and family in New York, my fellow YAVs and my new family at La Granja. I intentionally avoided reaching for a spoon, so I could remove myself from the game and observe how wonderful a blessing I had received.
