The most affirming feeling is being greeted by some of the campasinas that visit our office, women from the more distant mountain communities who take to heart the importance of a genuine “hello.” They look me straight in the eye, grab hold of my hands between their palms and kiss me on the cheek. “Mamita” or “little mamma” they say cheerfully with an endless smile.
I received similar greetings upon entering a room full of local parents, members of the Colectivo de Padres, a support group for parents of survivors of sexual abuse. I assumed the role of translator for an afternoon workshop on nutrition and child care, given by two visiting missionaries from Alberta, Canada. However, more than just translate, I became a bridge between the culture I came from and that which I have entered and embraced for the past seven months.
Ruth and Petra began their presentation admitting that they are not professionals. They came as foster parents, as mothers, and not as nutrition experts, which created a dynamic of commonality rather than instruction.
The first topic of discussion was infant child care. To get a sense of local practices, we asked the mothers how often and for how many months they nurse their babies. There seemed to be little difference until the topic of baby formula. In Peru, tap water is not purified and is therefore undrinkable, unless one has built up enough anti-bodies. However, this is often unknown or overlooked when preparing formula. We stressed the importance of boiling water and sterilizing bottles in order to prevent bacteria and infection.
We also spent some time passing around a plastic baby doll, in order to demonstrate the importance of healthy physical affection between parents and child. The presenters stressed that children need to be held, hugged and reassured through physical warmth and eye contact.
I have noticed a distinct distance between parents and their children, especially in very poor families where oftentimes each child is just another mouth to feed. Babies are carried on mothers’ backs suspended in a woven blanket tied around the women’s shoulders. At times I can’t tell whether a woman is carrying food from the market, wood for the fire or a sleeping infant.
In the rural communities that Paz y Esperanza serves, many women endure chronic domestic violence. Because they themselves have been denied dignity and respect in their homes, it is difficult for them to create loving relationships with their children. Paz y Esperanza has tried to change this.
During workshops with local mothers, the women are challenged to understand the concept of human value, a sense of worth that they have often been denied. The women are asked “How much is a kilo of rice? ... Compared to a sack of potatoes? … Which is more valuable, a cow or a sheep?” The women answer easily according to price and economic value.
The facilitators then ask, “And how much is a child worth?” There is of course some hesitation. “Which is more valuable, a son or a daughter?” Some of the women declare that a son is more valuable, because he will one day work and earn money for the family. Some agree, while others begin to question the failed logic.
Thus begins an open dialogue on the value of human life. We are not products to be bought and sold, nor are our children. No one being is better or more valuable than another, especially in regards to gender.
This seems obvious to those who were raised in loving families based on equality. But for many of these parents, the concept of human dignity is foreign.
As our visitors passed around the baby doll it seemed as if many didn’t know what to do with it. That is until Talia, a four year-old daughter of one of the participants, took the life-like doll and cradled it lovingly to her chest and showed, without words, how to express love to a child. As she crawled up near her father’s lap, I wondered if she herself receives enough care at home.
The rest of the workshop focused on nutrition and food preparation. I prepped our speakers briefly before the gathering, noting that the majority of the families that visit our office have limited resources and cannot stock the variety of food necessary for a balanced diet.
Bread, rice and potatoes are the staple food items while fruits and vegetable are often secondary. Meat and fish are expensive and many families tend to spend limited money on more luxury items like sugar and oil.
If a family has live chickens, they will often sell fresh eggs before keeping enough to feed their family. Dairy products are rarely purchased as few families have refrigeration.
With these factors in mind, I think we all entered the room quite unsure of what we could actually share to improve the nutrition of families who really don’t have many choices. But it was worth a try.
We began asking simple questions to assess what choices are available. “How many times a week do you eat meat? ... How much does a kilo of corn cost? … Do your children eat breakfast before going to school?”
After getting a sense of the basic diet and economic level of those gathered, we came up with a few recommendations:
1) For breakfast, avena (oatmeal) is a relatively cheap alternative to the basic bread and coffee. In addition to being low in cholesterol, oatmeal cooked in hot milk will provide more protein and calcium.
2) A bread roll served with a fried egg will provide more energy than bread alone.
3) If resources are extremely low, at least a glass of papaya juice will reduce intestinal parasites.
4) Have children bring a banana to school for a snack, or prepare granola bars with oatmeal, eggs and sugar.
5) During lunch, the largest meal of the day, a soup with chicken and vegetables is more nutritional than a broth with pasta and potatoes.
While many of these suggestions may not be adopted due to economic issues and buying habits, the group seemed extremely receptive. There seemed to be genuine interest and curiosity regarding what foods have more protein and how to select fruits with the most nutrients.
What is most difficult to accept is that no matter how much one tries to stretch their budget and select foods carefully, there is an overwhelming gap between what one’s body needs and what is available.
For example, one of the most ideal foods indigenous to Peru is a protein-rich grain called quinoa. However, it is nearly inaccessible to the people of Huánuco. Grown only in higher altitudes and expensive when sold in town, this product, which sustained the Incan Empire, is rarely eaten in local kitchens.
Both myself and the two visitors from Canada were saddened more than those sitting in the room. They, or course, have become accustomed to the reality of scarcity while we continue to feel the shock and guilt of our own over-abundance and consumption.
As I described these realities to the visitors, I could see that they were experiencing for the first time the same blinding truths that I encountered upon arriving in Huánuco in September. However, now, having listened to, talked with, prayer for, and become friends with children and parents who have less, I don’t feel so set apart.
I know I can’t change their grocery lists or fill their cupboards, but while I’m here I can learn about their struggles, offer whatever encouragement I can and also share with people back at home the truth of how 80% of the world’s population lives.
Regardless of what knowledge the Colectivo de Padres will take home with them after the workshop, I feel that they truly appreciated our effort. And that gratitude came in the form of a very humbling goodbye as each parent looked us straight in the eye, grabbed hold of our hands between their palms, kissed us on the cheek and said “Muchas gracias.” And that needs no translation at all.
I received similar greetings upon entering a room full of local parents, members of the Colectivo de Padres, a support group for parents of survivors of sexual abuse. I assumed the role of translator for an afternoon workshop on nutrition and child care, given by two visiting missionaries from Alberta, Canada. However, more than just translate, I became a bridge between the culture I came from and that which I have entered and embraced for the past seven months.
Ruth and Petra began their presentation admitting that they are not professionals. They came as foster parents, as mothers, and not as nutrition experts, which created a dynamic of commonality rather than instruction.
The first topic of discussion was infant child care. To get a sense of local practices, we asked the mothers how often and for how many months they nurse their babies. There seemed to be little difference until the topic of baby formula. In Peru, tap water is not purified and is therefore undrinkable, unless one has built up enough anti-bodies. However, this is often unknown or overlooked when preparing formula. We stressed the importance of boiling water and sterilizing bottles in order to prevent bacteria and infection.
We also spent some time passing around a plastic baby doll, in order to demonstrate the importance of healthy physical affection between parents and child. The presenters stressed that children need to be held, hugged and reassured through physical warmth and eye contact.
I have noticed a distinct distance between parents and their children, especially in very poor families where oftentimes each child is just another mouth to feed. Babies are carried on mothers’ backs suspended in a woven blanket tied around the women’s shoulders. At times I can’t tell whether a woman is carrying food from the market, wood for the fire or a sleeping infant.
In the rural communities that Paz y Esperanza serves, many women endure chronic domestic violence. Because they themselves have been denied dignity and respect in their homes, it is difficult for them to create loving relationships with their children. Paz y Esperanza has tried to change this.
During workshops with local mothers, the women are challenged to understand the concept of human value, a sense of worth that they have often been denied. The women are asked “How much is a kilo of rice? ... Compared to a sack of potatoes? … Which is more valuable, a cow or a sheep?” The women answer easily according to price and economic value.
The facilitators then ask, “And how much is a child worth?” There is of course some hesitation. “Which is more valuable, a son or a daughter?” Some of the women declare that a son is more valuable, because he will one day work and earn money for the family. Some agree, while others begin to question the failed logic.
Thus begins an open dialogue on the value of human life. We are not products to be bought and sold, nor are our children. No one being is better or more valuable than another, especially in regards to gender.
This seems obvious to those who were raised in loving families based on equality. But for many of these parents, the concept of human dignity is foreign.
As our visitors passed around the baby doll it seemed as if many didn’t know what to do with it. That is until Talia, a four year-old daughter of one of the participants, took the life-like doll and cradled it lovingly to her chest and showed, without words, how to express love to a child. As she crawled up near her father’s lap, I wondered if she herself receives enough care at home.
The rest of the workshop focused on nutrition and food preparation. I prepped our speakers briefly before the gathering, noting that the majority of the families that visit our office have limited resources and cannot stock the variety of food necessary for a balanced diet.
Bread, rice and potatoes are the staple food items while fruits and vegetable are often secondary. Meat and fish are expensive and many families tend to spend limited money on more luxury items like sugar and oil.
If a family has live chickens, they will often sell fresh eggs before keeping enough to feed their family. Dairy products are rarely purchased as few families have refrigeration.
With these factors in mind, I think we all entered the room quite unsure of what we could actually share to improve the nutrition of families who really don’t have many choices. But it was worth a try.
We began asking simple questions to assess what choices are available. “How many times a week do you eat meat? ... How much does a kilo of corn cost? … Do your children eat breakfast before going to school?”
After getting a sense of the basic diet and economic level of those gathered, we came up with a few recommendations:
1) For breakfast, avena (oatmeal) is a relatively cheap alternative to the basic bread and coffee. In addition to being low in cholesterol, oatmeal cooked in hot milk will provide more protein and calcium.
2) A bread roll served with a fried egg will provide more energy than bread alone.
3) If resources are extremely low, at least a glass of papaya juice will reduce intestinal parasites.
4) Have children bring a banana to school for a snack, or prepare granola bars with oatmeal, eggs and sugar.
5) During lunch, the largest meal of the day, a soup with chicken and vegetables is more nutritional than a broth with pasta and potatoes.
While many of these suggestions may not be adopted due to economic issues and buying habits, the group seemed extremely receptive. There seemed to be genuine interest and curiosity regarding what foods have more protein and how to select fruits with the most nutrients.
What is most difficult to accept is that no matter how much one tries to stretch their budget and select foods carefully, there is an overwhelming gap between what one’s body needs and what is available.
For example, one of the most ideal foods indigenous to Peru is a protein-rich grain called quinoa. However, it is nearly inaccessible to the people of Huánuco. Grown only in higher altitudes and expensive when sold in town, this product, which sustained the Incan Empire, is rarely eaten in local kitchens.
Both myself and the two visitors from Canada were saddened more than those sitting in the room. They, or course, have become accustomed to the reality of scarcity while we continue to feel the shock and guilt of our own over-abundance and consumption.
As I described these realities to the visitors, I could see that they were experiencing for the first time the same blinding truths that I encountered upon arriving in Huánuco in September. However, now, having listened to, talked with, prayer for, and become friends with children and parents who have less, I don’t feel so set apart.
I know I can’t change their grocery lists or fill their cupboards, but while I’m here I can learn about their struggles, offer whatever encouragement I can and also share with people back at home the truth of how 80% of the world’s population lives.
Regardless of what knowledge the Colectivo de Padres will take home with them after the workshop, I feel that they truly appreciated our effort. And that gratitude came in the form of a very humbling goodbye as each parent looked us straight in the eye, grabbed hold of our hands between their palms, kissed us on the cheek and said “Muchas gracias.” And that needs no translation at all.
