anDUH!

Today as my English students were working on their pronunciations between and and Aunt, I told them to practice saying duh – duh – duh – anDUH. I wrote it on the board and Conrado asked me what it meant. I responded by hitting my forehead with my and exclaiming “duh… pues!” After repeating duh – duh – duh – anDUH several times, I can clearly hear the distinction between their ending d’s and t’s. I suppose I hit my head a little too hard though because now I have a headache.

As I begin to pack my things, I will be reflecting on this past year:

What has changed within me?

What will I bring with me and what will I leave behind – emotionally and literally?

How will anyone be able to understand the life and people here, without experiencing them, living among them?

Will my presentations meet the expectations of the audience: my church, family, friends?

Will I meet their expectations?

How will I continue to use my Spanish learned, so I won’t forget it?

How will my days go without all the kisses on the cheek?

What does a meal look like without rice with it?

What is the next step for me, my next journey?

It seems I am ending this experience with just as many, if not more, questions as I started with. During lunch today we were talking about where Jenny’s stolen cell phone could be now. She asked “¿Quien sabes?” who knows. I answered, “Dios, y nadie mas.” God, and nobody else. “Si,” she answered. “Hay cosas que solo El sabe.” Yes, there are things that only God knows. I felt at that moment, that this is the answer to all the questions I listed above, and so many more. So as I enter into this time of change, I’m not worried. I’m looking forward to it. I look forward to talking with you, and sharing this experience in person. I look forward to the conversations we will have about fair trade, human rights, environmental advocacy, immigration, and culture. I look forward to finding my way to the next path that, for now, only God knows.

Thank you for your support throughout this year, and I’ll see you soon!

I added my latest pictures to this facebook album:
http://owu.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2015395&l=6b6cf&id=24100417

dia 299

Yesterday I watched a truck filled with 50 kgs bags of rice pass by, and I thought to myself... I probably eat about that much rice in one month (maybe 2)...

I felt a sense of pride stir on Sunday that I didn’t realize I had. I was at church and the new pastor made a reference to the way families in Europe raise their children, and said perhaps the hermana (in the protestant churches we refer to each other as brother and sister) can explain. Eli, turned to me with a knowing smile and I mouthed back: No soy europea - I’m not European. He noticed and after the service he spoke with me for the first time, besides the standard greetings and farewells. I told him I was from the States and he then asked me if I understood what he was saying. I told him that I understood his words, but they are completely different cultures. I wondered if he had ever been to Europe, or if he was just generalizing.

I prepared a Bible study for my church on Matthew 25 (what you do to the least of me…) to be part of a meeting and was disappointed when no one showed up. I was complaining to a volunteer friend about this when he said to me, “well, maybe the bible study wasn’t really for them, and was meant just for you.” I’ve thought about that comment, a lot. What was I supposed to get out of it? It talks about the excluded people. Was I excluding people? Was I being excluded? Sometimes it feels that way… but that’s not it, that wasn’t the message meant for me from the study. Upon reflection I realized, it was my attitude towards the beggars that needed to be changed. I can’t say that I’ve become accustom to the beggars, but they have become regular, routine. When I lived in New York City, I saw many beggars, almost every other corner had an old man or woman in rags sticking out their hand or shaking their cup at me. I usually walked by, I was an unpaid intern living in an expensive city. But here, it’s different. Its not just the old crumpled up old man on the corner, it is a young mother, a father, a child offering you candies to buy for 10 centimos or singing you a song on the bus. Sure, I would give to the first one that asked me in a day, but never the next one. I would feel, well that’s my obligation for today. Now, however, I see that attitude was wrong. If I have change in my pocket, I will buy candies from the next one and the 3rd, until I don’t have anymore centimos in my pocket.

I have been here for 299 days and I’ve found it difficult to write about my experience lately. I suppose that’s because things have become routine for me. That’s a good thing about the YAV program - a year gives you enough time to really get into the swing of things. I have about a month left and it feels so short, but then I realize some volunteer opportunities are only about a month and a half total! The reason I know today is day 299 is because I counted on Sunday. I had been feeling stuck in routine, not looking for the new opportunities each day can bring. I’ve made a commitment to myself to try to take things a day at a time. I intend to aprovechar(take advantage of) the next 44 days.

See my latest facebook pictures: http://owu.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2015395&l=6b6cf&id=24100417

Morning Routine

After being out of routine for 2 weeks, Monday I rode the bus to work in the morning thinking, yup back to normal. I realize however, that this may not be a normal experience and perhaps I should describe it to you all. I walk 4 blocks to the Metro de la Uni and wait there to spot a bus going to Brazil. I won’t take just any bus that says ‘Brazil’ on the side anymore. I’ve learned the quicker routes; some busses make a long way around and turn a lot, others are more direct. When I spot one, I wave it down. Sometimes when they are too full or don’t see me they pass by me without stopping. When one stops I squeeze quickly into it. I live off of a main road that heads into the central part of town. Usually, by the time the busses get to me there are quite a few people already riding it. People are dressed in a range of attire - from jeans to suits, to babies being carried in mantas and nursed when they start crying, women in uniforms and low cut tops and sweatpants, men in sport clothes or nice clothes carrying agendas and briefcases - So I squish myself into any remaining room and grab a hold of the bar on the ceiling. I try to have access to my pockets when the cobrador asks for my pasaje. I tell him I am going to Brazil, and about 20% of the time they don’t understand me and I get frustrated repeating myself thinking, come on its written on the side of your bus, but half the time I think they didn’t hear me or are simply making fun of my accent. When people need to get off of the bus they squish past, yelling baja at the cobrador and driver, freeing up a little wiggle room. Maria Arroyo told me that she used to carry pins in her pockets to avenge anyone standing too close to her back side. I haven’t come to this yet, and re-adjust as necessary. We drive past the fruit market, with many people buying, selling, digging through yesterdays leftovers and the smell is horrific. On good days we aren’t there very long, but during morning traffic this area tends to get stopped up. By the time we hit Plaza Bolonesa, enough people have gotten off that it’s a more comfortable ride, and sometimes I even manage to occupy a seat. I get off of the bus on Brazil in front of the Johnnie Walker sign, and walk to the office half a block, or cross the street and backtrack a block depending on whether or not the stop light turned red or stayed green. The past couple of days I passed by an old man walking the other direction telling me that I am a beautiful doll. This process takes anywhere from 25-40 minutes.

If you want to see pictures of while I was ‘out of routine for two weeks’ check out these facebook picture albums: http://owu.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2014625&l=8962f&id=24100417 and http://owu.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2014605&l=b872b&id=24100417, also you can read my latest volunteer newsletter: http://www.pcusa.org/missionconnections/letters/yav/yav_phillipsk_0705.htm

Maybe Hope, Hope Unknown...

Here are some pictures from March and April... you should look at them and make comments;)

http://owu.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2013639&l=a6636&id=24100417

I am amazed at how rapidly these past 8 months, since I got on the airplane to Chicago, have gone. I can remember so clearly the happy dance Kelly and I did in the airport after weighing my suitcases and both were under 50 pounds(just bairly). I have so many new memories, that make that dance seem like a lifetime ago. I am missing your faces now, but I only have about 3 months left. I hope to experience fully each moment here and live out these steps on my path with hope in the goodness of people, knowing that together change is possible.

I love and miss you my friends.

We're All In This World.

Much of my time these past few weeks was dedicated to a youth group delegation from a Michigan church, planning it and then accompanying it as small group and work team leader, and translator. I enjoyed very much watching the youth’s reactions to cultural things that I have been adapted to, but I enjoyed more watching these young people have a transformational experience. I compared much of it to the trips I took to Colombia my senior year in high school and college, that had so much of an impact on my faith journey.

The highlight of this trip was a mural we painted together. I spoke at the dedication ceremony in both Spanish and English. I was pretty nervous going off the cuff to a large group of people, but it went really well. We had painted the leaves of the many trees in the mural with hand prints, and the Mayor of La Oroya, who attended the mural dedication, placed his hand print in as a show of solidarity with the youth of La Oroya’s efforts/dreams for a cleaner and healthier city and people.

I am reminded again and again of how much the US impacts the rest of the world. How often does something happen in another country and everyone knows and talks about it? I was told again and again of the VT shootings by my co-workers, my host family, everyone. Perhaps because I am from the US, and perhaps because one of the victims was Peruvian, they sought me out to talk about it. But still I was amazed at the awareness they have of world events. I suppose it shouldn't be to hard to expect someone to know what is going in the world.

To make it eaiser for Kelly to memorize...

Happy Easter everyone!

I have been really busy with work lately...a good thing, because I feel like I am actually accomplishing something when I am busy. We are hosting a huge group of high schoolers from Michigan(I know M*CH*G*N!) But, their leader is an Ohio Stae fan, so I suppose its going to be ok. I can't take to much rivalry after our second national championship loss this year;) A part of the trip is a joint health festival with young people from La Oroya and Huancayo. La Oroya is one of the top ten most contaminated cities in the world, due to the Doe Run smelting plant. Included in the festival is a mural project with the theme Together we can change and dream how we want our Oroya. I am very excited for the chance to lead this group in such a powerful message. Please pray for all of us as this trip proceeds and especially the days we spend in La Oroya April 9-11.

ps. to those of you Westminster-ites, pay special attention to the new stoles on Sunday, made by our Bridge of Hope artisans!

I’m a Barbie girl, living in my Barbie world…

Tuesday- I attended a discussion group with Ruth, my site coordinator. The theme was a Lenten dedication to Peace. One comment that remains with me is that a conflict has not just two sides, it has at least as many sides as there are people involved, usually more.

Thursday- while on my way out to Comas for my weekly guitar lessons, I was early. I took the bus that has a bit longer route and usually takes an hour and 20 minutes, but Thursday it only took about 50, so I decided to stop at the Metro, buy a water and mosey my way up to the church. I’ve done this 15 minute walk several times, to run errands or grab a snack. It has always had a calm, laid back manner, giving me the impression things out in Comas are more tranquil. But, this time, was not so much. I received the cat calls and general torments of my usual walks in other parts of Lima. I picked up my relaxing mosey pace to my standard fast walk and realized that I had never walked this route solo before. Its always been with my yav friend/guitar teacher/basketball history guru, Jamie.

Friday- Flor and Eduardo(co-worker)’s first son, Fabiàn Ernesto, was born at 6:40am.

Saturday- I visited the happy family in the clinic and got to hold the tiniest person I’ve ever held. He was 3.5 kilos, which apparently for a baby is quite substantial, but for me having zero experience with babies is itty-bitty. That night, I had a fabulous time celebrating Maribel’s birthday. I enjoyed dancing with many of her friends. One friend told me I was Barbie, he meant it as a compliment, I quietly took it as an insult – and on retrospect, it has some truth to it. I spend most of my time bopping along, thinking we’re all in this together, but in reality, I have a totally different background from every person I am in contact with daily. I don’t see it always, but I realized they can see it. While taking a rest from dancing, I got asked to dance again. At first I rejected the offer, but upon persistence I got up to dance once more. Seconds later, in my peripheral vision I see Maribel’s aunt near us and the next thing I know, I have beer on my clothes and the glass is broken on the floor. I don’t know if she was throwing it at me or him or both of us, but I took this as my cue to exit stage left. Her other aunt stopped me and sat me down, telling me that her sister-in-law is crazy, and not to worry about it. I told her I was fine, I’m just going to leave because its late, and two friends walked me home. I realized that my ability to read people in Spanish is crap! Generally, in the States I am pretty good at observing the scene, and getting what’s not being said, but here I have a bubble up, I get the words that come out, but what’s behind them is hidden. I’m sure if my radars had been functioning, I would have seen the jealously or anger or whatever it was. I would have just stuck to dancing with the other guys, and I wouldn’t have gotten up to dance with him.

It takes weeks like this past one to help me remember that my life, my perceptions of situations and my reactions are formed specifically to me and from my experiences. Put any other person in my place and they would have different views and produce different outcomes.