Lately, I’ve been noticing some curious reversals going on in my world – mirror reflections of my first couple months, which now seem to bookend my experience here.The most obvious to me at the moment are fresh mosquito bites covering my lower legs and feet. I realize I’m re-entering bug season, which left my legs red and swollen back in September. However, this time I’m armed with anti-itch cream and an awareness that I’m literally partaking in the cycle of nature in this region.
With the slight seasonal change also comes cooler mornings with warmer and more windy afternoons. The dust circulating the air has left me with a never-ending head cold, which characterized my first couple weeks. And once again, a thick layer of Huánuco earth covers every surface in my bedroom, which no amount of sweeping and cleaning can mitigate.
I realize that it’s not so much a return of these aspects of life that grabs my attention. Rather, it is a return of my own attention. I am recapturing the wide-eyed alertness which informed me of my surroundings when I first arrived.
For a while, I became quite accustomed to the endless presence of potatoes and cumbia music, the astonishing size and variety of avocados and the occasional flock of sheep that cross through our neighborhood.
Once again these aspects appear out of the ordinary, distinct and altogether different from what I will return to. And while my refreshed awareness of certain elements are more welcomed than others, all seem to be an inseparable part of life here.
One very significant return was a personal pilgrimage I took to the Granja last weekend. Thanks to the suggestion of our YAV coordinator, Debbie, I realized that I needed a break and I didn’t have to go far to find it.
Being at the Granja felt so familiar and home-like, this time arriving by myself and for myself. I crossed the river (blue-tin-boat style), consumed myself in the last remaining corn fields and slowly came into range of our alfalfa fields, our cows, our place in the midst of all this land.
After a nap in the farm house, filled with memories, voices and faces of the campamentos in February, I met some of the volunteers from England in the eating pavilion to help peel a mound of coffee beans. Brown leathery shells cover tiny light green beans, and before roasting, they smell faintly of almonds and wild flowers.
After about forty minutes, I decided to escape any form of work, even if it was simply a nice excuse to chat. I headed toward the green and white gated entrance to the farm and crossed the pebbled road leading to Tomayquichua. I made my way through some prickly brush and then uphill along the overgrown walking path toward the mirador (look out).
As familiar to me now as the hilltop at Tawasentha Park overlooking the Heldebergs or the stone ledge viewing point at Thatcher Park, this is another one of my “heaven spots.” A shell of a bamboo hut sits behind a row of sturdy rocks, protected even more by immovable boulder-sized cactus plants.
It was about 4:30pm and the sun was beginning to fall toward the mountain edges on the opposite side of the river below. At my elevated spot overlooking the farm, I seemed to be at eye level with the gentle mountain outline.
In the open space between my perch and the opposing mountain wall is a valley of plant growth and a blend of animal sounds – clicking birds, barking dogs and a rooster, all amidst a thick warm breeze passing through the unobliterated openness.
After soaking in the end of the day, I came back down rocky incline, bouncing more than walking, and met up with the two teenagers that live in the shelter Casa de Buen Trato (House of Good Treatment). They brought me along to their shared bedroom where a new bed is awaiting another young girl, who will arrive shortly with her one-year old baby.
Covering the bed is a bright blue crochet blanket, which caught my eye immediately. The girls’ tutor invited me in and showed me that each square was knitted separately by the girls, each with a crochet flower in the middle, each a little different.
As the girls looked over my shoulder examining their work, I could tell they were incredibly proud. And they deserve to feel proud of their work and their lives, after all they’ve put up with.
Later over dinner, asparagus soup and lemon grass tea, one of the girls shared with me what she is most proud of. Pointing to her son’s new leather shoes, she informed me with such enthusiasm that she had purchased them in a nearby town with her own money, which she earned by making Mother’s Day chocolates and selling them at our office. She´ll be doing the same for Father’s Day, but this time, she noted, she’d like to buy something for herself.
She has changed so much since I met her back in September. She was very quiet and at times resembled a small deer caught in the headlights with a stunned expression, unsure of what was happening to her.
But over the past several months, she has really taken up her own space, caring for her son with a deep sense of devotion and finding humor in just about everything.
It’s strange to think that when I first came to the Granja to watch over the girls one weekend last fall, I felt anxious when I arrived and overwhelmed when I left. Entering their world was so unfamiliar and I didn’t know if I belonged.
But now, in a blessed reversal, it has become a place I return to – a place where I can both get away from the world and at the same time feel ever more a part of it.
