Soy mujer, escucha el rugido!

Being a girl has its perks. We get to wear makeup, have giggle/tickle fests, openly cry in public, and give birth, among many. 

And while in the states, women’s rights have come a long way thanks to our sisters before us, the rest of the world is still catching up, including Peru. 

Many people still can’t read and the majority is women. Women are expected to stay at home, cook, clean, and take care of the children, but to NOT get an education. And this isn’t something of the past; it is still going on today. My host mom’s father has another family, in which he has 3 young kids, and she recently told me that he is making the one girl stay at home, even though she really wants to go on to high school. He wants her to take care of the house with her mom. I was livid when she told me this and had half a mind to go find him and make him explain to me why she can’t go to school. 

Many studies have shown that when more women are educated in a society, the overall development improves.  So what’s the deal? 

Being a woman in Peru is tough because machismo is alive and well. Men are the ones who are offered food first at the table, men are the ones that get recognition in the community meanwhile women are looked upon as sex objects, whistled at constantly, and not given any respect. 

[Side story: Just the other day, I was walking around in the plaza when a bunch of teenage boys were whistling at me. As usual, I ignored them and went on my way. But the whistling got louder and then they started following me. “The nerve”, I thought. But again, I just ignored them and continued on my errands. I slipped into a store, where the boys were outside still yelling and whistling at me. “I’m going to give them a piece of my mind,” I thought, and then all the sudden, I actually listened to what they were saying. They were trying to tell me that I dropped something, so I looked in my pockets, and yes, I had lost my wallet! So I finally turn around and go up to them, and they explained that my wallet had fallen out and a man had taken it, and they were just trying to let me know. Ooooh, was I mad. I told them, the next time they are trying to get a girls attention, DO NOT WHISTLE AT THEM. Okay, back to my original blog....]

And being a foreigner and the self-titled-feminist that I am, it has been quite the experience so far. 

In my youth health promoter club, we’ve done some workshops on sex and gender, where I say a statement, such as “Women are supposed to stay at home and take care of the kids” or “Men are allowed to have sex before marriage and women are not” kind of statements, and the kids have to decide whether they agree or disagree with the statement. Because Peru has such gender divides, a lot of the boys, and even girls, agreed to those statements. When I asked them to explain why, they couldn’t really explain it, “it is just the way it is” they said.

In another activity, I handed out words, such as strong, sports, drinking, weak, cooking, taking care of babies, etc., and they had to put the words underneath “Man” or “Woman.” Of course, drinking, sports, and strong were put under “Man”, while weak, cooking, and taking care of babies was put under “Woman.” When I asked them to explain their reasoning, again, they couldn’t answer why. So then I said, “If a woman cooks, cleans, and takes care of the children, is she weak?” “No,” they answered, and then a light bulb went off in their little heads, and they started to realize that all of those words can apply to both men AND women. Hooray for small wins! 

So as a foreigner here in Peru, I’ve gotten to experience how a woman might have felt a century or even, 30 years ago! 

When I hear girls here saying they can’t do this or are not allowed to do that, my chest puffs up, and I give them my spiel: Just because you are a girl, doesn’t mean you aren’t as strong or smart as men. You can do whatever you put your mind to! 

And it makes me smile when I see girls doing just that when they graduate high school and go to the big cities to continue their educations. It’s like I can hear them saying, “Soy mujer, escucha el rugido (I am woman, hear me roar).”

Crazy Talk

I think Peace Corps has officially made me insane. Two years of living in a place where you don’t speak the language, know neither the culture nor the people, and are doing things you have never thought you would do in your lifetime. It’s an adventure, that’s for sure. 

I’ve come to the point in my service where I’ve done as much as I can, experienced all I can, and now is time to wrap things up. I have four months left and am left more confused about things than when I came.

First of all, what have I accomplished in my two years of Peace Corps service?  And could I have done more? Will I be remembered? Or was it all worth it?

And now all those things that have annoyed me in the past 2 years, such as the questions “Te enseñas?” (Have you taught yourself?), “Has engordado?” (You’ve gotten fatter?), “Vas a llover” (It’s going to rain)…I’m strangely going to miss it all. 

This has been a roller coaster of a ride and I’m on the last descent, and now I’m wishing that instead of the time going fast, that it slowed down just a bit longer so that I could take everything in.  But of course, that is not possible, so instead I’m just taking a little bit longer walking in the campo, passing that warm bottle of beer, or watching the sunsets on the pampa. 

The only question now is which roller coaster will I jump on to next?

Ole! Ole!

There is nothing more attractive than a man in a sequin outfit with pink socks. Bull fighters, ladies and gentlemen. It’s all about the bull fighters. 

For those that have not witnessed a bull fight before, it may appear to be unjust and barbaric, and I admit, that I was one of those people. But once I saw my first bull fight last year and saw that it was not just a killing spree, but a dramatic, man vs bull fight to the death, well then, I was hooked.

Bull fighting is alive and well in Peru, as well as other Latin American countries, like Columbia, Ecuador, and Mexico. There countries, including Peru, take after the style of bull fighting from their mother land of Spain, among many other aspects of the Latin American culture. 

But sticking to bull fighting…Each bull fight traditionally has three bull fighters or torero (also known as matador), each of which fights two bulls each. Each torero has a team that includes two picadores (“lancers on horseback”), three banderilleros (“dancers with sticks”), and a mozo de espadas (“sword page”).  This cuadrilla or entourage work together to kill a bull the quickest and most humane way possible.

Now on to the costumes. Torero costumes are easily called traje de luces or “suits of lights” because of all the sequins lining their outfits. The pants come way above the waist and are accompanied by a small matching jacket. Hats are optional, not all bull fighters wear them, but they bare a vague resemblance between Disneyland Mickey Mouse ears and Princess Lea’s hair-do. And who can forget the pink socks, which I might add, give a little something extra to the costumes. And last but not least, black ballet flats as the bull fighters fight on just sand, although from the last bull fight I saw, shoes appear to be optional.  

Each bull fight has three distinct stages or tercios (“thirds”), which are announced by the sound of a bugle. I know, very middle ages. First the bull fighting teams enter the arena in a parade to salute the crowd, and more importantly the presiding dignitary and judges, who decide who wins the bull fights because yes, it is a competition. Next, the bull enters the ring to be tested by the toreros and banderilleros for its behavior and quirks. They test the bull by using a capote or “cape” of gold on one side and magenta on the other.  This stage is called the tercio de varas or “The lancing third.” Next comes out the picadores or the lancers on horseback. The goal is for the picador to stab the bull just behind the neck of the bull to weaken the neck muscles, preparing it for the later stages. If the picador is successful, the bull will hold its head and horns slightly lower during the following stages of the fight lessening its chances of injuring the bull fighter. However in the bulls standpoint, seeing a man on a horse pointing a sharp stick at itself doesn’t exactly sit well for the bull, so the bull usually charges at the horse. But don’t worry; the horse is wearing a protective padding, as is the picador. Apparently prior to 1930, horses did not wear any protection and there were usually more horses killed in a bull fight than bulls. 

At this point of the bull fight, if the bull proves to be too small or too smart as to attack the picador, it can be “pardoned” by the judge and the people. I say the people because bull fights are very much democratic in that the audience goes very Roman on the judge and bull fighters, often times booing and throwing trash at the arena. You don’t want to mess with a bull fighting crowd, as they are very volatile. If the bull is pardoned, then it gets to return to where he came from and enjoy the rest of his life as a stud. Happily ever after.

In the next stage, called the tercio de banderillas (“the third of banderillas”), the three banderilleros attempt to plant two banderillas, sharp barbed sticks, into the bulls’ shoulders. This stage is by far my favorite as the banderilleros could double as ballerinas at the next opening of Swan Lake. They often start by standing on their tippy toes with their arms in the air with the banderillas pointing straight at the bull about 20 feet away. The take a little hop and then run head on to the bull and do a perfectly timed jump and stick the banderillas in the bull’s back, and then runs like hell. This, for obvious reason, often infuriates the bull and makes them more bravo or dangerous. Sometimes a torero likes to plant his own banderillas, and in the case of the bull fight I watched, the torero did all 6 banderillas by himself, barefoot. Seriously, bull fighting is anything but dramatic. 

The third stage called the tercio de muerte (“the third of death”) is obviously the last stage of a bull fight. In this stage, the torero enters the arena with a muleta or red cape and a small sword. The torero uses his cape to attract the bull in a series of passes which serve the dual purpose of wearing the animal down for the kill and producing a beautiful display or faena, or what I like to call the full cockiness of the bull fighter. In the bull fights that I have seen, the bull fighters try to demonstrate his dominance over the bull by trying to get close to his body and at times touching the horns and tail. I’ve also seen bull fighters straight up lunge right in front of the bull and stare him in the eye. If and when this happens, a loud scream thought to come from a 16 year old will most likely slip out of my mouth. When the torero does his series of passes, the crowd usually shouts “Ole” with each pass, not unlike the soccer “ole,” but a bit slower. This stage ends with the bull fighter hopefully tiring out the bull so that he can stab the bull between the shoulder blades and if done correctly, straight through the aorta of the heart. This is the main goal, but unfortunately, does not happen every time, which is when I admit that is when bull fighting gets cruel. But when done correctly, the bull falls down immediately. 

After the bull has died comes the ruling from the crowd and the judge. If the torero has done an exceptional job, the crowd waves their white pañuelos or handkerchiefs meanwhile screaming dos orejas or two ears. Ears are awarded to bull fighters who do outstandingly well.  Apparently the tail of the bull can be rewarded as well, but I have yet to see that. 

So there you have it folks, a good old fashion afternoon entertainment. I know that there are many people against such an event, but to me, it is something that I truly enjoy and will miss the coming year as this year was my last Chota Fest for a while. 

So I invite all of you, if you ever get a chance, to see a bull fight in person, and if you don’t want to see a bull killed than at the very least, just come for the bull fighters…

Good Days and Bad Days

You know it’s one of those days when you are crying in the middle of the road with a pick ax. Life has its good days and bad days, and it doesn’t matter whether you are in a foreign country or not. The circumstances just change a bit. 

My life is definitely not the same here, but there are creature comforts that keep me going; little things that help me keep me grounded. 

Coffee, for one. I enjoy a good cup of French pressed coffee not just to keep me awake during long meetings, but one little taste of coffee sends me back to the Pacific Northwest, as if I was in my kitchen at home getting ready to go to work. 

Exercise is another big one. I’ve definitely gained some potato pounds since being here, and while I can’t go to the gym or to the pool and work out for 2 hours, I can work in my garden. In fact, one of my favorite activities in Peru is to work in my garden while listening to NPR podcasts. Like I said, it’s all about the little things.

And of course, internet. The internet is not only an escape from this world, but a connection to my old one. I can email my family and friends, look at their photos posted, and catch up on the news abroad. I’ve faired pretty well while being in Peru. I used to be constantly connected back in the states, and even during the beginning of my service, it’d be a stretch to go 3 days without internet. Now I walk down to the nearest big town once a week just to check my email. It seems like a long way to go, but it’s worth every step. I will never take for granted 3G wi-fi ever again. 

So when all these little things come tumble down, such as your water boiler breaking, walking all the way down to Bambamarca only to find the power out, or a rainy day when all you planned to do was work in your garden, you find yourself tearing up for no good reason. Any sane person looking would be thinking “what the heck happened?” And all you could say is “I couldn’t have my coffee in the morning.” 

The reason why I am telling everyone this is because that’s just the life of a Peace Corps volunteer. One day you are up, and the next down, completely down in the dirt. It’s an on-going roller coaster of emotions that you have to look out for, and yet, you never know when it is coming. 

So the next time you see a fellow volunteer having an emotional breakdown, just go up and give them a hug, and just hope they don’t have a pick ax with them.

Be Careful What you Wish For

One of the most gratifying and aggravating thing for a Peace Corps volunteer is attendance at meetings. Gratifying if people come, aggravating if people don’t. A wise PCV once said to us during training to keep our expectations low. That way we would never be disappointed. While it may sound strange to some people, they are actually words that I adhere by whenever I’m doing a project in the community where I expect people to show up. 

Last year I helped start a youth center in my town, and while it was a great effort by many people in the community, I could pretty much call it “Annie’s Funland,” as I was the only one helping to run it. Attendance was low, especially since this was the first thing of its kind in our community. But once the word got out, poco a poco students started to come. I believe my highest number was 10 students at once, but that was successful. I was just glad that at least some students cared enough to learn something outside of school. 

This year I am continuing with my English classes on Monday and with a professional guest speaker on Wednesday to teach about any topic they’d like. I got two teachers to volunteer and they are teaching basic hand sewing and how to crochet. 

Now that I got some volunteers, all I had to do was get the word out. I put up some flyers at key places in town: health post, primary school, and high school. This year being its second year in running, I was hoping students would at least know what the youth center was. 

The first day finally came and I have to admit, I was nervous. There is nothing worse than putting your heart and soul in a project and then have no one show up. As the wise volunteer said, I was keeping my expectations low as to not get disappointed. I decided I would be happy if at least 5 students came to my English class, but I was secretly wishing that more would come.

So I walk up to the school with my key in hand, and turn the corner. And there, already, were one, two, three, FOUR students. Good. I’m on my way to success. 

We all head on in to the classroom and little by little a few more stragglers come walking in and by the time 30 minutes passed, I had a good 16 students attending my English class. 

This was great, I thought. A perfect number to teach. Not too many that I can’t help each student individually. Not too little that we couldn’t do group activities. 

So the next week rolls around, and I’m expecting my 16 students to come back give or take a few…when I round the corner of the school, where I find not 16, not 20, but 40 kids waiting for me. Not really sure what is going on, I head on back to the classroom where there is about 20 more students waiting for me. They all start barging into the classroom once I turn the lock, fighting to see how gets a seat up front. 44, 45, 46 I count. I turn around to put my things down and at least 10 more come in through the door. I count at last, 66 students. 

I wanted participation, but wow. I better be more careful for what I wish for. Never again.