I wrote this entry about two weeks ago, I think so imagine that the date on it says October 17 or so. This entry is also posted in the group blog for the Peruvian YAVs: http://www.presbyterianllamas.blogspot.com/
I play fulbito at 7:30am every Saturday with the youth from Kilometer 13 church its surrounding neighborhood in Comas. It’s definitely one of the highlights of my week. Fulbito is miniature soccer, played on a concrete “field” that’s the same size as a basketball court. The goals are maybe 1/3 the size of regular soccer goals, and six people play on each team instead of 11. When we play at Kilometer 13, there are usually close to 20 people there, so two teams play while a 3rd team waits to play the winner of a short game to two goals. Fulbito is much more popular than regular “fútbol” here in Lima if for no other reason than the fact that there just isn’t space for full-sized grass fútbol fields. I haven’t quite been to all of them, but I would venture to guess that every neighborhood in Lima has at least one fulbito court.
I’m sure at some point someone in Hollywood has made a movie about kids in Latin America playing serious pick-up fulbito, and I just haven’t seen it. (I don’t need to see it – I already know that it’s about how the neighborhood kids are really good at fulbito, but they’re also really poor. They play a game against a group of richer kids with more resources and less social/family issues…. Blah blah blah, eventually they overcome their obstacles, the ragtag underdog team wins the big game and everyone lives happily ever after). Seriously though, there are all sorts of movies that follow this same formula as it applies to street basketball and even baseball, why not fulbito?
I really do feel like I’m in a movie sometimes when I play fulbito on Saturdays. We play with the same ragged, faded soccer ball every week. The top cross bar of one of the goals on our court is broken, and has been tied on with rope. The court doesn’t have walls or a fence, so when the ball gets kicked out of bounds, someone has to run into the street to retrieve it, dodging traffic as they go (don’t worry, whenever this is my job I’m always very careful; I’m not trying to win the “which YAV will get hit by a car first” prize). The walls of many of the nearby buildings are covered in graffiti, and trash lines the streets. Mostly the same guys show up to play every week. Some of them have nicknames. Most of them wear the same shirt and pair of shorts each week. Many wear shoes with holes in them, or with soles that are coming apart and flap in the wind like the tongue of a dog panting on a hot day. Some of them start playing at 6:30 in the morning, as soon as it’s light outside (or so I’m told – I haven’t quite gotten up that early yet to find out).
Usually I feel like I’m “Smalls,” the main character in The Sandlot. When I showed up the first week, I was the new kid in town, and an obvious gringo, clad in “fancy” running clothes. With very few exceptions, I hadn’t played soccer since I was 13. But I came with Julio, a youth from the church that plays regularly. He introduced me to everyone one by one and assigned me to a team and position. Near the very beginning of my very first game, I took a throw-in after the ball went out of bounds and accidentally threw the ball to someone on the other team. He was left with only the goalie to beat, and immediately scored an easy goal. An argument then ensued over whether the goal should count or not, since the guy wouldn’t have scored if it hadn’t been for the stupid gringo on the other team taking the throw-in. Afterwards, I offered to switch out and let someone else play for me. Of course they told me everything was okay and insisted that I keep playing.
Since that first week, I’ve made plenty of other mistakes and looked pretty silly a zillion times, but I’ve slowly been getting better, remembering some elementary fundamentals from my preteen, rec-league soccer days and figuring out some basic strategies that are unique to fulbito. Two weeks ago, I even scored my first goal. Our best player beat a defender on a breakaway, and I followed, sprinting behind him. As he prepared to take a shot, I “crashed” the goal. The goalie blocked his shot, but by sheer luck the deflection bounced right to me and I drilled it into the back of the net. (Just kidding. Do you seriously think our goals would have nets? I just had to say that for poetic effect. But yes, I scored.) The third team that was watching went nuts. I tried to pretend like it was no big deal as I casually jogged back to my side of the court and high-fived my teammates, but I’m sure they would tell you that I was grinning like an idiot.
However, my real “Sandlot” moment happened this past Saturday. We had been playing for a good hour or so when one of the players on the other team decided to take a “one-touch” shot as hard as he could off a deflection. The ball soared over the goal, over the street, and over the roof of the house on the other side. As you probably know if you’ve ever been to a city in Latin America, the houses here don’t really have “side yards” between them. Each block is basically one big concrete street front, divided between different houses of different sizes and colors. So we couldn’t just run after the ball, because there’s no space between buildings. The funny part is that I had been playing goalie, meaning I would normally have the responsibility of retrieving the ball when it goes out of bounds. I just sort of looked back at everyone and said something to the effect of “now what?” A few of the guys climbed up on the concrete bleachers that line one side of the court to try and see where the ball went. (I kept waiting for one of them to say “great, no we can’t play ball no more!”)
I was sure the ball had landed in the yard of a massive, monster guard dog, but at least the ball wasn’t signed by Pele or Ronaldino or David Beckham or anything like that. (This is a good thing, because I didn’t exactly bring an erector set to Peru…) As we all sort of stood around, scratching our heads, one of the guy finally decided to go knock on the door of the house that the ball went over. Eventually a man opened the door. I can only imagine how the conversation went from there: “yes, a soccer ball didn’t happen to crash through your roof a moment ago, did it?” He went back inside, and sure enough a couple minutes later he emerged with the ball. I guess the families in this neighborhood are probably used to soccer balls flying into their backyards during breakfast time on Saturday. We thanked the man, took the ball and kept playing.
So if a movie about fulbito hasn’t been made yet, now’s the time. And I want some royalties. But if I’m not entitled to any profits, all I ask is that you don’t include “The Lion Sleeps Tonight” in the soundtrack.
- Alex
Thursday, October 30, 2008
Sunday, October 26, 2008
Quick Update
Although I've somehow managed to go 8 weeks in Peru without getting majorly sick, my laptop has come down with a virus, I'm afraid. So that means I'm kind of having trouble writing updates on my laptop, saving them on a flash drive and uploading them at an internet cafe, like I normally do.
So just know that I'm doing well. The Peru YAVs had a wonderful retreat in Huanuco, the land of eternal spring (seriously, the weather was georgous). I left Lima Friday night and returned tuesday night. We all got a chance to enjoy great food, weather and fellowship.
I guess I just hope that the retreat re-energized us enough to make it through big, bad November. November is supposedly the most difficult month of the YAV year, as culture shock is at its worst, because the differences between Peru and the United States that we don't mind when they're new and exciting start to get you down when they become old, stale and unchanging. So far I'm doing well as far as that goes. I have good days and bad days. On my good days, I feel like I could actually be a for-real missionary some day - you know, as a career. On my bad days, I can't help but despair that I won't be able to go home for another 9 months. To cope, I've thought about making a "Top 30 Reasons to Prefer Peru to the US" list, and then reveal one every day during November. Right now I'm having trouble getting to 30, but I have at least one: Thankfully, in Peru, in order to see/hear Sarah Palin on TV, you have to really try hard to look for her. Apparently in the US, you guys aren't so lucky....
Also, yesterday I went to a "Pollada" (yeah, the closest translation would be a "chicken bar b que) with the kilometro 13 church. So I'll leave you with the steps to have you're own pollada.
1. Get a chicken from the market.
2. Cut its head off
3. Cut the claws off the feet.
4. Save the feet.
5. Cut out its intestines.
6. Save everything else.
7. Grill or fry to taste.
Yeah, I'm leaving out some steps. But you get the idea. This is why I tell people in Peru I don't know how to cook. In the US, I would tell someone with all confidence "yes, I can be in charge of grilling the chicken for the family bbq." If you say that in Peru, they'll hand you an entire chicken. And you better save the heart, liver and other internal organs -- some people think those are the best parts!
So just know that I'm doing well. The Peru YAVs had a wonderful retreat in Huanuco, the land of eternal spring (seriously, the weather was georgous). I left Lima Friday night and returned tuesday night. We all got a chance to enjoy great food, weather and fellowship.
I guess I just hope that the retreat re-energized us enough to make it through big, bad November. November is supposedly the most difficult month of the YAV year, as culture shock is at its worst, because the differences between Peru and the United States that we don't mind when they're new and exciting start to get you down when they become old, stale and unchanging. So far I'm doing well as far as that goes. I have good days and bad days. On my good days, I feel like I could actually be a for-real missionary some day - you know, as a career. On my bad days, I can't help but despair that I won't be able to go home for another 9 months. To cope, I've thought about making a "Top 30 Reasons to Prefer Peru to the US" list, and then reveal one every day during November. Right now I'm having trouble getting to 30, but I have at least one: Thankfully, in Peru, in order to see/hear Sarah Palin on TV, you have to really try hard to look for her. Apparently in the US, you guys aren't so lucky....
Also, yesterday I went to a "Pollada" (yeah, the closest translation would be a "chicken bar b que) with the kilometro 13 church. So I'll leave you with the steps to have you're own pollada.
1. Get a chicken from the market.
2. Cut its head off
3. Cut the claws off the feet.
4. Save the feet.
5. Cut out its intestines.
6. Save everything else.
7. Grill or fry to taste.
Yeah, I'm leaving out some steps. But you get the idea. This is why I tell people in Peru I don't know how to cook. In the US, I would tell someone with all confidence "yes, I can be in charge of grilling the chicken for the family bbq." If you say that in Peru, they'll hand you an entire chicken. And you better save the heart, liver and other internal organs -- some people think those are the best parts!
Monday, October 13, 2008
Something tells me it's all happening at the zoo....
A couple things: First of all, I’ve changed the settings of my blog so anyone can comment – you don’t need a log-in name. So feel free to add comments. Try to say who you are, if you’re not logged into gmail. I’ll delete anonymous comments if they start getting out of control.
Second: I’ve been here for six weeks now, which is longer than I’ve ever been outside of the country. Weird.
Third: I still haven’t eaten guinea pig (“cuy”) yet, but this weekend the YAVs have a retreat in Huanuco/Tingo Maria. This will be the first time that I’ve left Lima. People have told me they eat a lot more cuy outside of Lima, in the provinces. So wish me luck…
Last Wednesday, we went to the zoo.Well, it wasn’t just a zoo. We went to Parque Sinchi Roca. “We” were myself, Damaris, Daniela, Julia, Cristiano, and Dayra. According to Daniela, Sinchi Roca is the largest park in Lima. And I believe her. It’s huge. And it’s really nice, as far as things in Comas go. For one, it’s green. There’re actually trees and grass. And a giant pool (which was closed until summer), a tiny man-made lake with paddle boats and motor boats you can rent (reminiscent of Lake Susan in Montreat, but smaller, if you can imagine that), camp sites, plenty of soccer fields, a small zoo (obviously), amusement park-type rides, food/drink/souvenir stands and even TRASH CANS!!!! (big, outdoor public trash cans are almost non-existent in Lima).
Yesterday was a holiday, which I didn’t find out until the day before yesterday – I had been planning to go to work with the compassion program all day. I’m still not sure exactly what the holiday was. Daniela told me the name of the holiday, (which I forgot) but she didn’t know exactly why it exists. So since most families were off from school/work, the park was packed. Kids playing soccer. Couples picnicking on blankets in the grass. Huge groups of people circled around performers doing drama and comedy. All in all, it was a pretty cool scene. The whole scene overall kind of reminded me of Brackenridge Park in San Antonio on a nice weekend.
We actually didn’t get to the park until after 5pm, so we didn’t have too much time to explore before it started getting dark. The actually weren’t going to let us in to the zoo part of the park at first, but then Daniela pointed at me and said that it was her son’s last day in Peru before he went back to the United States, and they let us in. The zoo was very small, and mostly included animals from South/Central America. There were a couple gorgeous parrots and toucans, a bunch of different kinds of monkeys and small birds, a baby leopard, a giant constricting snake of some kind, a fox, and an adult puma. They were all in cages/exhibits that were probably much smaller than they should be. But you could get up really close and shake hands with/feed the monkeys, which was cool.
It was a fun afternoon. The entire family agreed we’ll have to go back some time, when the pool is open and when we have more time to see everything.
Second: I’ve been here for six weeks now, which is longer than I’ve ever been outside of the country. Weird.
Third: I still haven’t eaten guinea pig (“cuy”) yet, but this weekend the YAVs have a retreat in Huanuco/Tingo Maria. This will be the first time that I’ve left Lima. People have told me they eat a lot more cuy outside of Lima, in the provinces. So wish me luck…
Last Wednesday, we went to the zoo.Well, it wasn’t just a zoo. We went to Parque Sinchi Roca. “We” were myself, Damaris, Daniela, Julia, Cristiano, and Dayra. According to Daniela, Sinchi Roca is the largest park in Lima. And I believe her. It’s huge. And it’s really nice, as far as things in Comas go. For one, it’s green. There’re actually trees and grass. And a giant pool (which was closed until summer), a tiny man-made lake with paddle boats and motor boats you can rent (reminiscent of Lake Susan in Montreat, but smaller, if you can imagine that), camp sites, plenty of soccer fields, a small zoo (obviously), amusement park-type rides, food/drink/souvenir stands and even TRASH CANS!!!! (big, outdoor public trash cans are almost non-existent in Lima).
Yesterday was a holiday, which I didn’t find out until the day before yesterday – I had been planning to go to work with the compassion program all day. I’m still not sure exactly what the holiday was. Daniela told me the name of the holiday, (which I forgot) but she didn’t know exactly why it exists. So since most families were off from school/work, the park was packed. Kids playing soccer. Couples picnicking on blankets in the grass. Huge groups of people circled around performers doing drama and comedy. All in all, it was a pretty cool scene. The whole scene overall kind of reminded me of Brackenridge Park in San Antonio on a nice weekend.
We actually didn’t get to the park until after 5pm, so we didn’t have too much time to explore before it started getting dark. The actually weren’t going to let us in to the zoo part of the park at first, but then Daniela pointed at me and said that it was her son’s last day in Peru before he went back to the United States, and they let us in. The zoo was very small, and mostly included animals from South/Central America. There were a couple gorgeous parrots and toucans, a bunch of different kinds of monkeys and small birds, a baby leopard, a giant constricting snake of some kind, a fox, and an adult puma. They were all in cages/exhibits that were probably much smaller than they should be. But you could get up really close and shake hands with/feed the monkeys, which was cool.
It was a fun afternoon. The entire family agreed we’ll have to go back some time, when the pool is open and when we have more time to see everything.
A little more serious...
I started writing this entry on October 7, 2008. I finished it this morning (10-13).
I was robbed twice within the span of one week. Pickpocketed once, and also just plain robbed. If you’re curious (and I hope you are) about what happened, then copy, paste, and save this entry, because it’s quite long. (I would say you might want to print it out so it’s easier to read, but I probably shouldn’t flatter myself, and plus that would be a huge waste of paper and ink...but if you want to, go for it!)
DISCLAIMER
Before I get started, I need to get a couple of things out of the way. First, I have not been physically hurt/injured in any way. Second, the ONLY person that can be blamed for what happened is me. (Well, of course, you can obviously blame the robbers – because you should never really “blame the victim.” And we can all try to blame God. Job did that, and I think Job was pretty justified, even though God disagreed and put Job in his place.) What I’m trying to say is that my host family, my site coordinator Debbie, my partners in mission here in Peru, and the Young Adult Volunteer / World Mission staff of the Presbyterian Church (USA) can NOT be held responsible for ANY of the unfortunate events whose descriptions follow. They have all exercised and continue to exercise good judgment in terms of looking out for my safety and well-being. When I agreed to participate in a program that involves living and working in a South American mega-city of 9 million people while I myself am a foreigner from the US, I understood that there were certain risks involved. That being said, I assure you all that I am not living or working in any environment that poses a severe threat/danger. My host family is still wonderful. My work placements/churches/mission partners are still wonderful. I’m still – honestly – really glad I’m here. I don’t want to come home. If you want to fly out to Lima to protect me by trying to bring me home, then go right ahead. I’ll be happy to introduce you to my host family, churches and other YAVs. And we can hang out, catch up, eat some ceviche etc. But then I’ll make you fly home by yourself, because I’m staying here.
Sometimes, crappy things just happen. And after all is said and done, I’m still here to blog about it, with the hope that we can all learn from my experiences, and in the long run, become better disciples of Jesus Christ and citizens of the World because of it.
Finally, I should probably mention that the following narrative is pretty much an uncensored account of the robbery. It includes pretty much everything that I remember and the things that were going through my head. So naturally some of it is not necessarily relevant/important information. This blog entry is simply my way of remembering, processing and reflecting.
ROBBERY #1 – Setting the Scene
ANYWAYS, the first time I was robbed was last Wednesday. I had been at the internet café in my neighborhood very near my house. I had been checking my email, chatting with friends and family on Skype, and catching up on news, college football etc. At 8:30pm, I left the café to come back home. I decided to come back by way of Avenida Universitaria, the main road that borders my barrio (neighborhood). This route is longer than the way I usually come to the internet café (through the neighborhood park), but Juancito and Daniela told me that going down Universitaria is usually safer than going through the park at night. As I was walking down Universitaria, I saw 3 guys probably in their late teens ahead of me, crossing the street in my direction. They continued down the sidewalk about 30 meters in front of me on my side of the road. They were walking in the same direction I was walking. While they were crossing the street, they kept looking over their shoulders in my direction. It seemed like they were looking at me, but I convinced myself that they were probably just checking to see if any cars were coming as they crossed. But even after they had safely crossed, they still looked back in my direction.
When they got to the corner, which just happened to be the road that leads to my house, they turned out of my sight (the entire block is lined by a 8 foot high brick wall that serves as the periphery of the local high school). At that point, I definitely had a bad feeling about these guys. But for some honestly inexplicable reason, I continued walking forward instead of turning around and going back to the internet café. I slowed down and walked down the last half of the block really, really slowly. I guess I somehow thought that they would just continue walking after they turned the corner, and if I walked slowly, by the time I got around the corner, they would be really far ahead of me. But right before I got to the corner, I saw their shadows and heard voices around the other side. Right when I realized they were there, all three of them were suddenly coming around to greet me, and I was quickly surrounded.
ROBBERY # 1 – The Assault (it’s not as scary as it sounds)
One of them (he looked like he was maybe 16) asked me “eres de alla?” and pointed toward the neighborhood where I lived. As I simply said “sí,” one of the other guys behind me put me in a headlock. At this point, they all started talking/shouting at me really, really fast, and I honestly don’t know what they said. I can just assume it was something like “give me your money, don’t move, give me what you have in your pockets” etc. I didn’t really try to figure out what they were saying, because I knew what they wanted. They reached into my pockets and took everything. I was holding in my hands the earphones/microphone set that I use on Skype, but for some reason they let me keep that. My pants were kind of falling down as they tried to take everything out of my pockets. Being kind of self-conscious (and trying to avoid being the victim of a more serious crime…), I tried to reach in and help them take my stuff out. At this point the guy with his arm around my neck pressed tighter and said something to me. I think he thought I was reaching for a concealed weapon. So I took my hand back out of my pocket and let them continue taking my stuff themselves.
As everything was happening, a taxi drove past slowly. There were at least 2 or 3 passengers inside, all of them watching what was happening. I looked at them pleadingly, hoping they’d help. Of course, the taxista didn’t stop. He just kept driving, with the windows rolled all the way up.
ROBBERY # 1 – Counting the losses
The whole ordeal probably lasted only 20 seconds. When they got everything, the one guy finally let me go, and they ran back across Universitaria in the direction from which they originally crossed. Thankfully, they didn’t want my pocket Spanish-English dictionary or my YAV pen!!! (Neither one could be easily replaced here in Peru, I think.) They just dropped them on the ground as they took off. As the three cholos ran, they kept looking back, watching me (somewhat nervously, I think). I guess they were just waiting for me to shout an insult, try and call the police, chase after them etc. But instead, I just picked up my pen and dictionary and stood there watching them, dumbfounded and hurt (emotionally, not physically). In all, I lost my cell phone, which I bought in Peru for about 75 soles (~$25); the little coin purse that had served as my wallet, which contained something like 25 or 30 soles (about $9); and my USB flash drive, which had a 4GB capacity and cost me about $40 in the US (but I had all the files on it already saved on my laptop at home). They didn’t physically hurt me, and they didn’t ever show me any type of weapon.
ROBBERY # 1 – The aftermath
So all things considered, as far as getting robbed goes, it wasn’t too bad. As I continued the walk back to my house, a mototaxi came up behind me (different than the taxi that drove by earlier). The driver told me he saw what happened and told me to get in so he could take me home. He asked me if I had family here in Comas. I told him yes – I was staying here in this neighborhood. He told me he lived right there, near the corner and that he thought he might know the kids who robbed me. He asked me who my family was. I explained to him that I’m a volunteer missionary from the US, and that my “family” here isn’t really a biological family, but a host family – and that they’re Daniela and Juan Carlos. He said he knew Juan Carlos and he would accompany me to the house. When Daniela answered the door, the mototaxista simply told her who he was and then said good-night and took off. I think he did this because he didn’t want to have to awkwardly explain how he saw me get robbed.
As soon as I got inside the door, I told my family what happened, which made everyone upset. Juancito kept asking me if I was going to cry. Daniela told me that I shouldn’t have stayed out so late, that I should have called for someone to come get me instead of trying to walk back solo, and that she had considered checking on me in the internet café earlier since I had been there for so long. She had decided not to, because she didn’t want to be an overbearing, worrisome host mother (the same decision my real mother would have made, I think). And Damaris kept threatening to use her belt to beat up the guys that robbed me.
It turned out that the mototaxista and Juan Carlos don’t really know each other all that well. After talking on the phone with him for about 15 minutes, Juan Carlos told me that we were going out to try and find the guys who robbed me.
So then Juan Carlos and I left. We basically just walked around the neighborhood for half an hour. Every few minutes, Juan Carlos would point at somebody and ask me if he was one of them. Naturally, we never found the guys. I thought all of this to be kind of a dumb idea at the time. So what if we DID find the three guys, and then turned them in to the police or whatever? They’d probably be back on the streets within a couple days, and the next time they saw me, they probably wouldn’t be as “friendly” as before. But I realized that what we were doing served more of a purpose than simply looking for the guys that robbed me; Juan Carlos was basically “introducing” me to the neighborhood.
Juan Carlos grew up in El Retablo (the name of my neighborhood). He’s kind of a big deal around here. He knows pretty much everybody. In the past week since that night, I’ve walked around the neighborhood running errands with Juan Carlos a couple times. Each time, there are other people out, and they see us together. Usually, we run into a couple people Juan Carlos is friends with, and he talks to them for awhile and introduces me. As more and more people see me out with Juan Carlos and the rest of the family, word eventually spreads that I’m not just some single gringo tourist who took the wrong bus out from downtown and got stuck in Comas, but rather I’m part of the neighborhood. I have social connections, and I don’t necessarily have a lot of money and fancy stuff to be stolen.
ROBBERY # 1 – What I learned
As the people from my site placement/church assignments found out what happened, I’ve been hearing a steady stream of not only condolences, but also warnings and advice to prevent it from happening again. “Don’t go out after dark.” “Don’t ever go anywhere alone.” “Parts of Comas can be dangerous.” “Why didn’t you call somebody to come get you?” “You always have to be conscious of your surroundings.” “You need to learn karate or self-defense.” The most interesting advice I heard, which was actually something we also discussed during orientation, was to always carry my bible with me in a way that people could see it. I don’t think people here actually believe that the bible will mysteriously “protect” you like some charm, but rather potential thieves will see it and fear possible repercussions (mystical, social etc). Or as Harry (our site coordinator’s husband) put it somewhat jokingly, “they’ll know you’re an Evangelical, and they’ll leave you alone because the Evangelicals are the only ones who will visit them in prison.” [Side note: “Evangelical” refers to any and all protestant/reformed Christian groups in Latin America. It doesn’t mean exactly the same thing as it does in the States…]
SEMI-RELATED TANGENT to lighten the mood
So during the past couple weeks, I’ve been carrying my bible with me everywhere I go. I figure it can’t hurt, right? And I haven’t been robbed again during that time (well…. um, except for the pickpocketing story described below. But I honestly don’t think whoever picked my pocket even knew I was carrying a bible). Really, the only direct result from carrying the bible everywhere is that I have a lot more candy than I did before. Now you might be wondering to your self, “Self, what in the world does carrying a bible have to do with getting candy?” Well, let me tell you!
When you ride the bus in Lima, especially during the middle of the day when busses aren’t particularly crowded and people aren’t in as much of a hurry, you will eventually get used to people (usually men) standing up in the front of the bus to address the passengers. They say “Hi, may I have your attention. My name is such-and-such. I am such-and-such years old. I believe in Jesus Christ. Currently, for such-and-such reason, I can’t really provide for my family, which includes such-and-such people. So today I would like to offer you these such-and-such candies. They’re really good. The price is such-and-such. Please help me. Thank-you for your attention, and my God bless you.” The person then proceeds to walk up and down the aisle, offering his candies, breath mints, chocolates or miniature staplers (seriously!) for sale. The first time this happened, I thought to myself “yeah right, nobody’s going to buy any of that.” But I was seriously wrong. On a bus with 30 people, I would say at LEAST 4 or 5 people usually buy something. That would never happen in the US.
So if I’m sitting there on the bus with my bible in my lap, how can I NOT buy candies from these people? They’re legitimately much worse off than I am economically. But they’re not simply begging for money and solely trying to evoke guilt/pity. They’re actually selling something, offering something in return, attempting to “earn” whatever they can. And the price of the little candies is usually something like 10 for the equivalent of 25 cents. And 25 cents goes much further here than it would at home. Plus, these people are explicitly telling everyone they’re Christian. I figure if I’m carrying my bible for “protection,” I should probably “practice what I preach,” so to speak (otherwise, my cover’s blown… just kidding).
The only problem is I’m not much of a candy-eater. Currently, I have a growing pile of candy on my dresser in my room. Sometimes I give it to my host siblings. But I recently realized that the candy is my insurance policy. If (God forbid), something happened to me here in Lima and I somehow lost my money, possessions, and the support of my host family, at least I would have the candy. And then I would have a means of income. I could just get on the busses and say “Good afternoon, let me have your attention for a moment. My name is Alex Cornell. I’m 22 years old. I believe in Jesus Christ. I recently lost my host family here in Lima, and now I’m all alone, unable to afford a flight back to my home in the United States. So today I would like to offer for sale these candies. I have all different flavors, and can sell them for 5 centamos a piece. Thank-you for your time, and may God bless you.”
DISCLAIMER, again
Okay, back to the subject at hand. Before I continue with the pickpocketing story (which is much, much shorter and not nearly as exciting), I’m going to simply copy and paste the very last part of what I wrote up top to introduce this entry just to ensure you that I’m not miserable or any nonsense like that:
My host family is still wonderful. My work placements/churches/mission partners are still wonderful. I’m still – honestly – really glad I’m here. I don’t want to come home. If you want to fly out to Lima to protect me by trying to bring me home, then go right ahead. I’ll be happy to introduce you to my host family, churches and other YAVs. And we can hang out, catch up, eat some ceviche etc. But then I’ll make you fly home by yourself, because I’m staying here.
“ROBBERY” # 2 – The story
So TODAY (I’m currently writing this at home on my laptop on October 7), I went to the Red Uniendo Manos office in Pueblo Libre (a district of Lima that’s about an 75 minute bus ride south of my house, more or less in the direction of downtown). I left my house at 7:15 this morning in order to observe the English class that Leslie teaches to the Uniendo Manos staff that officially starts at 8:00 every morning. My own English classes at my churches start this Saturday, and I still don’t know what I’m doing, and Leslie has actually taught English as a foreign language professionally, in a school. So I figured I could learn a lot from the way Leslie does things.
The math whizzes out there are realizing that I was about 45 minutes late. The class starts at 8am officially, which in Peru means that people won’t start arriving until 8:30. The reason everyone shows up late to an event in Peru is that everyone knows that the event won’t start on time, because everyone knows that people show up late in Peru (this “self-fulfilling prophecy” is the only concept I’ve felt confident in applying here in Peru from my western sociology background). I was planning on being about 30 minutes late to the class, but I had to wait at the bus stop for over 15 minutes before my bus finally appeared – which is a long time to wait for a bus in Lima. So when a bus finally did come, I took it. Even though it was definitely the most crowded bus I’ve EVER seen in my 5 weeks here in Lima. The cobrador had to push me on board through the mass of humanity. So by now, you’ve probably figured out what happened. There was no fancy scam, teamwork or “distraction” used to target me and pick my pocket. When I reached in my pocket to pay my fare a few blocks into my ride, after a bunch of people had gotten off and the bus wasn’t quite as congested, I realized my wallet was gone (this was my “backup wallet” since my small, handy coin purse wallet had been stolen 5 days earlier in the event described in the above dissertation). Luckily, I had all my coins I needed to pay my fare just sitting in my pocket beneath the wallet, so they weren’t stolen. All that was in my wallet that was stolen were 30 soles (a little less than $10) – that’s the amount I had usually been carrying on me on a daily basis. Now I’m planning to start carrying less – about 10 soles unless I’m POSITIVE that I’m going to need more.
“ROBBERY” # 2: Immediate Reaction/Thoughts/Reflections
So for the next hour in the bus, I just sort of sat and stewed, unable to believe “it happened again.” I probably re-checked all of my pockets 5 or 6 times during the hour, trying to make my wallet magically re-appear. I felt discriminated against. Robbed twice in the span of a week. I was angry, sad and frustrated. It wasn’t so much the fact that I lost 30 soles and a cheap wallet that upset me; it was the principle of the thing. That someone would have so little respect for me as a person that they would steal from me. They thought I looked like I had tons of money to lose. I was sure as soon as I squeezed myself onto that bus, people saw me and thought “look at the gringo, I’ll bet he’s got a bunch of cash on him. And his wallet’s probably right there in that pocket…” I felt like a victim of discrimination. My skin, hair and eyes are a different color from most everyone else here. I don’t speak the native language fluently. I have an accent. And so people think they can take advantage of me. It made me so angry. You can’t just judge/stereotype people from their appearance like that. On the inside, I don’t fit the stereotype of a white, male American. Why can’t they get to know me first? I can’t wait to go back to the United States, where this kind of thing doesn’t happen any more. In the USA, we stopped discriminating, judging, and stereotyping people based on their appearance and manner of speaking in the 60s, right? Because WE don’t see race or gender. Everyone’s equal in our country… right?
I even planned a little speech in my head about what I would say next time I got on a bus. It would have nothing to do with selling candy. I’d simply stand up and say “Hi, my name is Alex Cornell. Yes, I’m from the United States. English, not Spanish, is my first language. No, I’m not a tourist. I’m a volunteer missionary from the Presbyterian Church. But I’m not standing up here to preach or share the Gospel. I’m sure most of you have already heard the message of Jesus many, many times. I’m simply asking you not to rob or take advantage of me. I have already been robbed twice in the past week, including earlier today. I don’t have a lot of money. Spread the word. Tell your friends and family if they see me, I have nothing worth stealing. Thanks for your time, and may God’s peace be with you.”
Of course, I didn’t actually give this speech the next time I got on a bus. I’m not sure how people would react if I did, but it probably wouldn’t be too good.
FURTHER REFLECTION
Looking back, I really don’t think it was a big deal in the great scheme of things. Worse things have happened. Now you might be saying to your self: “Self, if it wasn’t such a big deal, then why is his blog entry about it nearly 6000 words long?” And I would say that first of all, you should have known that I’m a wordy person.
And second, I said it wasn’t a huge deal and that worse things have happened, because in this big world of ours, plenty of people have much more pressing things to worry about than being pickpocketed or robbed of inconsequential material possessions. Instead, people have to worry about war, starvation, cancer, AIDS, murder, rape – you know, fun stuff like that. But the people whose daily realities are dominated by these more serious issues AREN’T upper-middle class white US citizens* (i.e. the readership of this blog). To me — to us — it IS a big deal. Before today, I had NEVER been assaulted or pickpocketed. And only rarely had the possibility of such crime seemed high enough to make me worry about it or take precautions. I can hardly imagine this happening to me in Decatur or Trinity’s neighborhood in San Antonio. I’ve walked places (or gone for runs) by myself at much later hours of the night at school or at home without even giving it a second thought.
In his hit “song” (and by “song” I mean “speech”), “Wear Sunscreen,” Baz Lurhman advises his listeners to “live in New York City once, but leave before it makes you hard. Live in northern California once, but leave before it makes you soft.” I have lived in neither of those places. But let’s just say that where I have lived (before now) is much closer (metaphorically, not physically) to northern California than New York. Lima obviously isn’t New York City, but considering that it has 9 million people, that I’m an obvious foreigner, that I don’t speak the language totally fluently, and that I’m living and working in a non-touristy, working class neighborhood, I think Baz Lurhman’s (yeah, I have no idea how to spell his name) sentiment still applies.
People who know me well know that I’m INCREDIBLY “soft.” A pushover. Afraid of confrontation. Always warm and smiling. Willing to sacrifice my comfort for that of others. Friendly, playful, open and trusting. I’ve never been to Berkley, but Baz Lurhman would definitely identify me as a Northern California softie. But naturally, during the past couple weeks, I can feel myself growing a lot “harder.” Suddenly, I don’t want to get to know strangers or other people. I don’t want to smile everywhere I go. I’m not going to stop and talk to anyone or blindly trust someone I don’t know. When I walk through the neighborhood or get on the bus, I want to look serious, cold, closed-off, and just a little mean. I’m not just some happy-go-lucky tourist from the US that anyone can rob or pickpocket. If you look like a friendly, selfless, submissive person, you appear to be a much easier target for someone who wants to rob or take advantage of you. They’re not planning on “listening to your story,” getting to know you, making friends or even seeing you again.
As I think about the implications of all these changes in my attitude and outlook, I can’t help but be kind of worried/scared. I don’t want to finish my YAV year having become tough, cold, jaded, and paranoid. I guess I don’t want to lose my cheerful, idealistic innocence. But is it possible for me to live here in this new environment for a year and NOT become “hard?”
I think the relationships, friendships and partnerships that I am developing here in Lima are really, really important. Along with my growing faith and relationship with God, I think they are the only chance I have at retaining any of my “softness.” Barack Obama had it wrong. I’m going to cling to my religion because I’d rather NOT cling to a gun.
We are hesitant to trust others because we know there are plenty of bad, mean-spirited people out there that will hurt or take advantage of us if we trust them. Yet I think a culture characterized by distrust breeds bad, mean-spirited people. What was it Yoda said? I think it was “fear leads to anger, anger leads to hate, hate leads to suffering.” Or something like that. Yoda was a wise dude. I am convinced that one of the primary causes of violence is fear. That, and violence itself. If you’re afraid of being robbed, acting big, bad and angry is a good strategy to defend yourself . . . most of the time. However, let’s assume there will always be people out there looking to steal from others. If everyone is tough and mean, the only plausible response the thieves can take is to become even tougher and meaner. There’s always a bigger fish (or a bigger gun, as the case may be). This doesn’t seem like a good answer to the question “What would Jesus do?”
FINAL THOUGHTS
So where do I go from here? There’s no way to avoid looking like an out of place US citizen.* When people look at me and see someone with white skin, lighter hair and lighter colored eyes, they’re probably 90% sure I’m from the US. As soon as I open my mouth to speak, they have no doubt. For example, I was simply walking down the street to Kilometer 13 church with the pastor a couple days ago when this guy stopped me and asked me in English, “Hi, how are you? Where are you from?” I had never seen him before. I wasn’t looking at him. I hadn’t said anything. He was just standing on the street, saw me walk by and knew he would have a chance to practice his English. I really can’t hide. (This is the reason Sean said he was going to tell people he was from Germany and doesn’t speak English). What I CAN do is try my best to look like what I am – a church missionary LIVING here for a year rather than a tourist or US study-abroad student that would be carrying a lot of money.
There’s only so much about “street smarts” you can learn from reading books on tourism or culture. I think for the most part, you just have to live and learn. For my part, I’m simply going to try to look like I don’t have a lot of money/electronics (which of course is true – I never carry much of either), and not look like I’m scared or timid. And if I ever do get robbed/assaulted again, I’m not going to let the robbers get away so easily. That’s right – I’m going to do the Christian thing. I’ll say:
“Wait, you forgot my wristwatch.”
“Do you want my jacket?”
“You can have my shoes too, if you like.”
I’m dead serious. I didn’t bring a single piece of clothing/jewelry that is worth a lot or I wouldn’t mind losing (okay, I honestly would probably be pretty sad if I lost one of my Montreat staff end-of-summer t-shirts or my Trinity track and field fleece, but I’d get over it). But seriously. More than one Christian author have pointed out that Jesus’ advice to “turn the other cheek” and give up not only your jacket to someone who wants to sue you, but your shirt, too is more than just being pacifistic and submissive. Jesus was giving his disciples a strategy in self-defense. When you turn the other cheek, you look your aggressor in the eye to let him/her see your own humanity and realize his/her own cruelty. When you unexpectedly offer up the rest of your clothes to someone who wants to take your jacket, you’re making it obvious how little you have, while at the same time exposing the extent of your enemy’s greed.
OKAY, FINAL THOUGHT (for real this time)
If you’re poor, you don’t worry about being robbed.
I’m not the first person that’s ever been robbed in Comas. Native Limeños get robbed here, too. But not poor ones. The advantage Limeños have is that they will probably be okay as long as they don’t look obviously wealthy or have something worth stealing (based on clothes, jewelry etc). If you’re a tall white person, however, you probably run the risk of being robbed no matter what kind of clothes you have on. Because our country is just so much wealthier than the rest of the world. Want to stop illegal immigration? Terrorism? Crime and theft against US citizens* traveling abroad? Then get rid of the despicable gap in the distribution of wealth between U.S. and the rest of the world.
FREQUENTLY ASKED QUESTIONS (I think…)
Q: Why would you make all of this public knowledge? Isn’t this just unnecessarily worrying your friends/family? Don’t you have some sort of rule that says “what happens in Peru stays in Peru”?
A: Yes, I’ve obviously questioned the wisdom in making all of this public. I care very much about my family’s peace of mind. I don’t want them to unnecessarily worry. But they were going to worry anyway. And I’m too honest of a person to try and “hide” it until I’ve safely returned home. Originally, I started writing this just as a personal way to reflect and process my thoughts about what happened. I wasn’t planning on sharing it. However, the experiences of the past week obviously made a big impression on me, and it seems almost impossible not to share. Furthermore, I’ve also realized during my 6 weeks here so far that I’m not just a “missionary” to my partner congregations here in Lima, but more importantly, I’m a missionary to the United States. As far as actually “preaching the Gospel” in the traditional sense with which we often associate “missionaries,” I think I am supposed to do much more “testifying” to the folks back home than the people here in Peru. As I continue to serve here in Lima, I want to openly and sincerely share my experiences of Christ and culture with everyone in the States. I want you to see another part of the world through my eyes, so you can “serve through me” without actually being here. And that means sharing the messy, hard, scary parts as well as the fluffy, happy, feel-good parts, because some times the scary parts have more to teach us than the happy ones.
Q: Wow, it really took you that long to figure out the whole “being a missionary to the US” part of the YAV program?
A: Yes. Shut up.
Q: Are you changing your habits (not just your general philosophy on life) in light of being robbed? [PLEASE READ THIS IF YOU PLAN ON COMMENTING/EMAILING ME TO GIVE ME ADVICE!!!]
A: Yes. If I’m ever out after dark, someone comes to walk me home. I never leave home on my own after dark. When possible, I get someone to accompany me whenever I’m going somewhere. I never carry more money than I need (usually not more than about $3 or $4 worth). If I’m getting money from an ATM or casa de cambio, I get someone to come with me. I always carry a PHOTOCOPY (not the real thing) of my passport. I never take candy from strangers (okay, obviously that’s not true – I BUY candy from strangers, but I never take it for free). I visibly carry my bible everywhere I go (for more info, see above).
Q: Are you voting absentee?
A: Yes, already sent in my ballot. ¡Obámanos!
FUN FACT: Double spaced, 1” margins with 12 point Times New Roman font, this journal entry is over 16 pages long – longer than any paper I’ve ever written.
*[Another side note: I say “US citizen” instead of “American,” because I’m still in “America.” Spanish has both an adjective and a noun to describe people from the United States. English doesn’t. I’m still working on it. Could I say “ex-pat?” I’ve hear that word a lot in reference to people from the United States in other countries, and I think I qualify, but I’ve never been 100% clear on what “ex-pat” means….]
I was robbed twice within the span of one week. Pickpocketed once, and also just plain robbed. If you’re curious (and I hope you are) about what happened, then copy, paste, and save this entry, because it’s quite long. (I would say you might want to print it out so it’s easier to read, but I probably shouldn’t flatter myself, and plus that would be a huge waste of paper and ink...but if you want to, go for it!)
DISCLAIMER
Before I get started, I need to get a couple of things out of the way. First, I have not been physically hurt/injured in any way. Second, the ONLY person that can be blamed for what happened is me. (Well, of course, you can obviously blame the robbers – because you should never really “blame the victim.” And we can all try to blame God. Job did that, and I think Job was pretty justified, even though God disagreed and put Job in his place.) What I’m trying to say is that my host family, my site coordinator Debbie, my partners in mission here in Peru, and the Young Adult Volunteer / World Mission staff of the Presbyterian Church (USA) can NOT be held responsible for ANY of the unfortunate events whose descriptions follow. They have all exercised and continue to exercise good judgment in terms of looking out for my safety and well-being. When I agreed to participate in a program that involves living and working in a South American mega-city of 9 million people while I myself am a foreigner from the US, I understood that there were certain risks involved. That being said, I assure you all that I am not living or working in any environment that poses a severe threat/danger. My host family is still wonderful. My work placements/churches/mission partners are still wonderful. I’m still – honestly – really glad I’m here. I don’t want to come home. If you want to fly out to Lima to protect me by trying to bring me home, then go right ahead. I’ll be happy to introduce you to my host family, churches and other YAVs. And we can hang out, catch up, eat some ceviche etc. But then I’ll make you fly home by yourself, because I’m staying here.
Sometimes, crappy things just happen. And after all is said and done, I’m still here to blog about it, with the hope that we can all learn from my experiences, and in the long run, become better disciples of Jesus Christ and citizens of the World because of it.
Finally, I should probably mention that the following narrative is pretty much an uncensored account of the robbery. It includes pretty much everything that I remember and the things that were going through my head. So naturally some of it is not necessarily relevant/important information. This blog entry is simply my way of remembering, processing and reflecting.
ROBBERY #1 – Setting the Scene
ANYWAYS, the first time I was robbed was last Wednesday. I had been at the internet café in my neighborhood very near my house. I had been checking my email, chatting with friends and family on Skype, and catching up on news, college football etc. At 8:30pm, I left the café to come back home. I decided to come back by way of Avenida Universitaria, the main road that borders my barrio (neighborhood). This route is longer than the way I usually come to the internet café (through the neighborhood park), but Juancito and Daniela told me that going down Universitaria is usually safer than going through the park at night. As I was walking down Universitaria, I saw 3 guys probably in their late teens ahead of me, crossing the street in my direction. They continued down the sidewalk about 30 meters in front of me on my side of the road. They were walking in the same direction I was walking. While they were crossing the street, they kept looking over their shoulders in my direction. It seemed like they were looking at me, but I convinced myself that they were probably just checking to see if any cars were coming as they crossed. But even after they had safely crossed, they still looked back in my direction.
When they got to the corner, which just happened to be the road that leads to my house, they turned out of my sight (the entire block is lined by a 8 foot high brick wall that serves as the periphery of the local high school). At that point, I definitely had a bad feeling about these guys. But for some honestly inexplicable reason, I continued walking forward instead of turning around and going back to the internet café. I slowed down and walked down the last half of the block really, really slowly. I guess I somehow thought that they would just continue walking after they turned the corner, and if I walked slowly, by the time I got around the corner, they would be really far ahead of me. But right before I got to the corner, I saw their shadows and heard voices around the other side. Right when I realized they were there, all three of them were suddenly coming around to greet me, and I was quickly surrounded.
ROBBERY # 1 – The Assault (it’s not as scary as it sounds)
One of them (he looked like he was maybe 16) asked me “eres de alla?” and pointed toward the neighborhood where I lived. As I simply said “sí,” one of the other guys behind me put me in a headlock. At this point, they all started talking/shouting at me really, really fast, and I honestly don’t know what they said. I can just assume it was something like “give me your money, don’t move, give me what you have in your pockets” etc. I didn’t really try to figure out what they were saying, because I knew what they wanted. They reached into my pockets and took everything. I was holding in my hands the earphones/microphone set that I use on Skype, but for some reason they let me keep that. My pants were kind of falling down as they tried to take everything out of my pockets. Being kind of self-conscious (and trying to avoid being the victim of a more serious crime…), I tried to reach in and help them take my stuff out. At this point the guy with his arm around my neck pressed tighter and said something to me. I think he thought I was reaching for a concealed weapon. So I took my hand back out of my pocket and let them continue taking my stuff themselves.
As everything was happening, a taxi drove past slowly. There were at least 2 or 3 passengers inside, all of them watching what was happening. I looked at them pleadingly, hoping they’d help. Of course, the taxista didn’t stop. He just kept driving, with the windows rolled all the way up.
ROBBERY # 1 – Counting the losses
The whole ordeal probably lasted only 20 seconds. When they got everything, the one guy finally let me go, and they ran back across Universitaria in the direction from which they originally crossed. Thankfully, they didn’t want my pocket Spanish-English dictionary or my YAV pen!!! (Neither one could be easily replaced here in Peru, I think.) They just dropped them on the ground as they took off. As the three cholos ran, they kept looking back, watching me (somewhat nervously, I think). I guess they were just waiting for me to shout an insult, try and call the police, chase after them etc. But instead, I just picked up my pen and dictionary and stood there watching them, dumbfounded and hurt (emotionally, not physically). In all, I lost my cell phone, which I bought in Peru for about 75 soles (~$25); the little coin purse that had served as my wallet, which contained something like 25 or 30 soles (about $9); and my USB flash drive, which had a 4GB capacity and cost me about $40 in the US (but I had all the files on it already saved on my laptop at home). They didn’t physically hurt me, and they didn’t ever show me any type of weapon.
ROBBERY # 1 – The aftermath
So all things considered, as far as getting robbed goes, it wasn’t too bad. As I continued the walk back to my house, a mototaxi came up behind me (different than the taxi that drove by earlier). The driver told me he saw what happened and told me to get in so he could take me home. He asked me if I had family here in Comas. I told him yes – I was staying here in this neighborhood. He told me he lived right there, near the corner and that he thought he might know the kids who robbed me. He asked me who my family was. I explained to him that I’m a volunteer missionary from the US, and that my “family” here isn’t really a biological family, but a host family – and that they’re Daniela and Juan Carlos. He said he knew Juan Carlos and he would accompany me to the house. When Daniela answered the door, the mototaxista simply told her who he was and then said good-night and took off. I think he did this because he didn’t want to have to awkwardly explain how he saw me get robbed.
As soon as I got inside the door, I told my family what happened, which made everyone upset. Juancito kept asking me if I was going to cry. Daniela told me that I shouldn’t have stayed out so late, that I should have called for someone to come get me instead of trying to walk back solo, and that she had considered checking on me in the internet café earlier since I had been there for so long. She had decided not to, because she didn’t want to be an overbearing, worrisome host mother (the same decision my real mother would have made, I think). And Damaris kept threatening to use her belt to beat up the guys that robbed me.
It turned out that the mototaxista and Juan Carlos don’t really know each other all that well. After talking on the phone with him for about 15 minutes, Juan Carlos told me that we were going out to try and find the guys who robbed me.
So then Juan Carlos and I left. We basically just walked around the neighborhood for half an hour. Every few minutes, Juan Carlos would point at somebody and ask me if he was one of them. Naturally, we never found the guys. I thought all of this to be kind of a dumb idea at the time. So what if we DID find the three guys, and then turned them in to the police or whatever? They’d probably be back on the streets within a couple days, and the next time they saw me, they probably wouldn’t be as “friendly” as before. But I realized that what we were doing served more of a purpose than simply looking for the guys that robbed me; Juan Carlos was basically “introducing” me to the neighborhood.
Juan Carlos grew up in El Retablo (the name of my neighborhood). He’s kind of a big deal around here. He knows pretty much everybody. In the past week since that night, I’ve walked around the neighborhood running errands with Juan Carlos a couple times. Each time, there are other people out, and they see us together. Usually, we run into a couple people Juan Carlos is friends with, and he talks to them for awhile and introduces me. As more and more people see me out with Juan Carlos and the rest of the family, word eventually spreads that I’m not just some single gringo tourist who took the wrong bus out from downtown and got stuck in Comas, but rather I’m part of the neighborhood. I have social connections, and I don’t necessarily have a lot of money and fancy stuff to be stolen.
ROBBERY # 1 – What I learned
As the people from my site placement/church assignments found out what happened, I’ve been hearing a steady stream of not only condolences, but also warnings and advice to prevent it from happening again. “Don’t go out after dark.” “Don’t ever go anywhere alone.” “Parts of Comas can be dangerous.” “Why didn’t you call somebody to come get you?” “You always have to be conscious of your surroundings.” “You need to learn karate or self-defense.” The most interesting advice I heard, which was actually something we also discussed during orientation, was to always carry my bible with me in a way that people could see it. I don’t think people here actually believe that the bible will mysteriously “protect” you like some charm, but rather potential thieves will see it and fear possible repercussions (mystical, social etc). Or as Harry (our site coordinator’s husband) put it somewhat jokingly, “they’ll know you’re an Evangelical, and they’ll leave you alone because the Evangelicals are the only ones who will visit them in prison.” [Side note: “Evangelical” refers to any and all protestant/reformed Christian groups in Latin America. It doesn’t mean exactly the same thing as it does in the States…]
SEMI-RELATED TANGENT to lighten the mood
So during the past couple weeks, I’ve been carrying my bible with me everywhere I go. I figure it can’t hurt, right? And I haven’t been robbed again during that time (well…. um, except for the pickpocketing story described below. But I honestly don’t think whoever picked my pocket even knew I was carrying a bible). Really, the only direct result from carrying the bible everywhere is that I have a lot more candy than I did before. Now you might be wondering to your self, “Self, what in the world does carrying a bible have to do with getting candy?” Well, let me tell you!
When you ride the bus in Lima, especially during the middle of the day when busses aren’t particularly crowded and people aren’t in as much of a hurry, you will eventually get used to people (usually men) standing up in the front of the bus to address the passengers. They say “Hi, may I have your attention. My name is such-and-such. I am such-and-such years old. I believe in Jesus Christ. Currently, for such-and-such reason, I can’t really provide for my family, which includes such-and-such people. So today I would like to offer you these such-and-such candies. They’re really good. The price is such-and-such. Please help me. Thank-you for your attention, and my God bless you.” The person then proceeds to walk up and down the aisle, offering his candies, breath mints, chocolates or miniature staplers (seriously!) for sale. The first time this happened, I thought to myself “yeah right, nobody’s going to buy any of that.” But I was seriously wrong. On a bus with 30 people, I would say at LEAST 4 or 5 people usually buy something. That would never happen in the US.
So if I’m sitting there on the bus with my bible in my lap, how can I NOT buy candies from these people? They’re legitimately much worse off than I am economically. But they’re not simply begging for money and solely trying to evoke guilt/pity. They’re actually selling something, offering something in return, attempting to “earn” whatever they can. And the price of the little candies is usually something like 10 for the equivalent of 25 cents. And 25 cents goes much further here than it would at home. Plus, these people are explicitly telling everyone they’re Christian. I figure if I’m carrying my bible for “protection,” I should probably “practice what I preach,” so to speak (otherwise, my cover’s blown… just kidding).
The only problem is I’m not much of a candy-eater. Currently, I have a growing pile of candy on my dresser in my room. Sometimes I give it to my host siblings. But I recently realized that the candy is my insurance policy. If (God forbid), something happened to me here in Lima and I somehow lost my money, possessions, and the support of my host family, at least I would have the candy. And then I would have a means of income. I could just get on the busses and say “Good afternoon, let me have your attention for a moment. My name is Alex Cornell. I’m 22 years old. I believe in Jesus Christ. I recently lost my host family here in Lima, and now I’m all alone, unable to afford a flight back to my home in the United States. So today I would like to offer for sale these candies. I have all different flavors, and can sell them for 5 centamos a piece. Thank-you for your time, and may God bless you.”
DISCLAIMER, again
Okay, back to the subject at hand. Before I continue with the pickpocketing story (which is much, much shorter and not nearly as exciting), I’m going to simply copy and paste the very last part of what I wrote up top to introduce this entry just to ensure you that I’m not miserable or any nonsense like that:
My host family is still wonderful. My work placements/churches/mission partners are still wonderful. I’m still – honestly – really glad I’m here. I don’t want to come home. If you want to fly out to Lima to protect me by trying to bring me home, then go right ahead. I’ll be happy to introduce you to my host family, churches and other YAVs. And we can hang out, catch up, eat some ceviche etc. But then I’ll make you fly home by yourself, because I’m staying here.
“ROBBERY” # 2 – The story
So TODAY (I’m currently writing this at home on my laptop on October 7), I went to the Red Uniendo Manos office in Pueblo Libre (a district of Lima that’s about an 75 minute bus ride south of my house, more or less in the direction of downtown). I left my house at 7:15 this morning in order to observe the English class that Leslie teaches to the Uniendo Manos staff that officially starts at 8:00 every morning. My own English classes at my churches start this Saturday, and I still don’t know what I’m doing, and Leslie has actually taught English as a foreign language professionally, in a school. So I figured I could learn a lot from the way Leslie does things.
The math whizzes out there are realizing that I was about 45 minutes late. The class starts at 8am officially, which in Peru means that people won’t start arriving until 8:30. The reason everyone shows up late to an event in Peru is that everyone knows that the event won’t start on time, because everyone knows that people show up late in Peru (this “self-fulfilling prophecy” is the only concept I’ve felt confident in applying here in Peru from my western sociology background). I was planning on being about 30 minutes late to the class, but I had to wait at the bus stop for over 15 minutes before my bus finally appeared – which is a long time to wait for a bus in Lima. So when a bus finally did come, I took it. Even though it was definitely the most crowded bus I’ve EVER seen in my 5 weeks here in Lima. The cobrador had to push me on board through the mass of humanity. So by now, you’ve probably figured out what happened. There was no fancy scam, teamwork or “distraction” used to target me and pick my pocket. When I reached in my pocket to pay my fare a few blocks into my ride, after a bunch of people had gotten off and the bus wasn’t quite as congested, I realized my wallet was gone (this was my “backup wallet” since my small, handy coin purse wallet had been stolen 5 days earlier in the event described in the above dissertation). Luckily, I had all my coins I needed to pay my fare just sitting in my pocket beneath the wallet, so they weren’t stolen. All that was in my wallet that was stolen were 30 soles (a little less than $10) – that’s the amount I had usually been carrying on me on a daily basis. Now I’m planning to start carrying less – about 10 soles unless I’m POSITIVE that I’m going to need more.
“ROBBERY” # 2: Immediate Reaction/Thoughts/Reflections
So for the next hour in the bus, I just sort of sat and stewed, unable to believe “it happened again.” I probably re-checked all of my pockets 5 or 6 times during the hour, trying to make my wallet magically re-appear. I felt discriminated against. Robbed twice in the span of a week. I was angry, sad and frustrated. It wasn’t so much the fact that I lost 30 soles and a cheap wallet that upset me; it was the principle of the thing. That someone would have so little respect for me as a person that they would steal from me. They thought I looked like I had tons of money to lose. I was sure as soon as I squeezed myself onto that bus, people saw me and thought “look at the gringo, I’ll bet he’s got a bunch of cash on him. And his wallet’s probably right there in that pocket…” I felt like a victim of discrimination. My skin, hair and eyes are a different color from most everyone else here. I don’t speak the native language fluently. I have an accent. And so people think they can take advantage of me. It made me so angry. You can’t just judge/stereotype people from their appearance like that. On the inside, I don’t fit the stereotype of a white, male American. Why can’t they get to know me first? I can’t wait to go back to the United States, where this kind of thing doesn’t happen any more. In the USA, we stopped discriminating, judging, and stereotyping people based on their appearance and manner of speaking in the 60s, right? Because WE don’t see race or gender. Everyone’s equal in our country… right?
I even planned a little speech in my head about what I would say next time I got on a bus. It would have nothing to do with selling candy. I’d simply stand up and say “Hi, my name is Alex Cornell. Yes, I’m from the United States. English, not Spanish, is my first language. No, I’m not a tourist. I’m a volunteer missionary from the Presbyterian Church. But I’m not standing up here to preach or share the Gospel. I’m sure most of you have already heard the message of Jesus many, many times. I’m simply asking you not to rob or take advantage of me. I have already been robbed twice in the past week, including earlier today. I don’t have a lot of money. Spread the word. Tell your friends and family if they see me, I have nothing worth stealing. Thanks for your time, and may God’s peace be with you.”
Of course, I didn’t actually give this speech the next time I got on a bus. I’m not sure how people would react if I did, but it probably wouldn’t be too good.
FURTHER REFLECTION
Looking back, I really don’t think it was a big deal in the great scheme of things. Worse things have happened. Now you might be saying to your self: “Self, if it wasn’t such a big deal, then why is his blog entry about it nearly 6000 words long?” And I would say that first of all, you should have known that I’m a wordy person.
And second, I said it wasn’t a huge deal and that worse things have happened, because in this big world of ours, plenty of people have much more pressing things to worry about than being pickpocketed or robbed of inconsequential material possessions. Instead, people have to worry about war, starvation, cancer, AIDS, murder, rape – you know, fun stuff like that. But the people whose daily realities are dominated by these more serious issues AREN’T upper-middle class white US citizens* (i.e. the readership of this blog). To me — to us — it IS a big deal. Before today, I had NEVER been assaulted or pickpocketed. And only rarely had the possibility of such crime seemed high enough to make me worry about it or take precautions. I can hardly imagine this happening to me in Decatur or Trinity’s neighborhood in San Antonio. I’ve walked places (or gone for runs) by myself at much later hours of the night at school or at home without even giving it a second thought.
In his hit “song” (and by “song” I mean “speech”), “Wear Sunscreen,” Baz Lurhman advises his listeners to “live in New York City once, but leave before it makes you hard. Live in northern California once, but leave before it makes you soft.” I have lived in neither of those places. But let’s just say that where I have lived (before now) is much closer (metaphorically, not physically) to northern California than New York. Lima obviously isn’t New York City, but considering that it has 9 million people, that I’m an obvious foreigner, that I don’t speak the language totally fluently, and that I’m living and working in a non-touristy, working class neighborhood, I think Baz Lurhman’s (yeah, I have no idea how to spell his name) sentiment still applies.
People who know me well know that I’m INCREDIBLY “soft.” A pushover. Afraid of confrontation. Always warm and smiling. Willing to sacrifice my comfort for that of others. Friendly, playful, open and trusting. I’ve never been to Berkley, but Baz Lurhman would definitely identify me as a Northern California softie. But naturally, during the past couple weeks, I can feel myself growing a lot “harder.” Suddenly, I don’t want to get to know strangers or other people. I don’t want to smile everywhere I go. I’m not going to stop and talk to anyone or blindly trust someone I don’t know. When I walk through the neighborhood or get on the bus, I want to look serious, cold, closed-off, and just a little mean. I’m not just some happy-go-lucky tourist from the US that anyone can rob or pickpocket. If you look like a friendly, selfless, submissive person, you appear to be a much easier target for someone who wants to rob or take advantage of you. They’re not planning on “listening to your story,” getting to know you, making friends or even seeing you again.
As I think about the implications of all these changes in my attitude and outlook, I can’t help but be kind of worried/scared. I don’t want to finish my YAV year having become tough, cold, jaded, and paranoid. I guess I don’t want to lose my cheerful, idealistic innocence. But is it possible for me to live here in this new environment for a year and NOT become “hard?”
I think the relationships, friendships and partnerships that I am developing here in Lima are really, really important. Along with my growing faith and relationship with God, I think they are the only chance I have at retaining any of my “softness.” Barack Obama had it wrong. I’m going to cling to my religion because I’d rather NOT cling to a gun.
We are hesitant to trust others because we know there are plenty of bad, mean-spirited people out there that will hurt or take advantage of us if we trust them. Yet I think a culture characterized by distrust breeds bad, mean-spirited people. What was it Yoda said? I think it was “fear leads to anger, anger leads to hate, hate leads to suffering.” Or something like that. Yoda was a wise dude. I am convinced that one of the primary causes of violence is fear. That, and violence itself. If you’re afraid of being robbed, acting big, bad and angry is a good strategy to defend yourself . . . most of the time. However, let’s assume there will always be people out there looking to steal from others. If everyone is tough and mean, the only plausible response the thieves can take is to become even tougher and meaner. There’s always a bigger fish (or a bigger gun, as the case may be). This doesn’t seem like a good answer to the question “What would Jesus do?”
FINAL THOUGHTS
So where do I go from here? There’s no way to avoid looking like an out of place US citizen.* When people look at me and see someone with white skin, lighter hair and lighter colored eyes, they’re probably 90% sure I’m from the US. As soon as I open my mouth to speak, they have no doubt. For example, I was simply walking down the street to Kilometer 13 church with the pastor a couple days ago when this guy stopped me and asked me in English, “Hi, how are you? Where are you from?” I had never seen him before. I wasn’t looking at him. I hadn’t said anything. He was just standing on the street, saw me walk by and knew he would have a chance to practice his English. I really can’t hide. (This is the reason Sean said he was going to tell people he was from Germany and doesn’t speak English). What I CAN do is try my best to look like what I am – a church missionary LIVING here for a year rather than a tourist or US study-abroad student that would be carrying a lot of money.
There’s only so much about “street smarts” you can learn from reading books on tourism or culture. I think for the most part, you just have to live and learn. For my part, I’m simply going to try to look like I don’t have a lot of money/electronics (which of course is true – I never carry much of either), and not look like I’m scared or timid. And if I ever do get robbed/assaulted again, I’m not going to let the robbers get away so easily. That’s right – I’m going to do the Christian thing. I’ll say:
“Wait, you forgot my wristwatch.”
“Do you want my jacket?”
“You can have my shoes too, if you like.”
I’m dead serious. I didn’t bring a single piece of clothing/jewelry that is worth a lot or I wouldn’t mind losing (okay, I honestly would probably be pretty sad if I lost one of my Montreat staff end-of-summer t-shirts or my Trinity track and field fleece, but I’d get over it). But seriously. More than one Christian author have pointed out that Jesus’ advice to “turn the other cheek” and give up not only your jacket to someone who wants to sue you, but your shirt, too is more than just being pacifistic and submissive. Jesus was giving his disciples a strategy in self-defense. When you turn the other cheek, you look your aggressor in the eye to let him/her see your own humanity and realize his/her own cruelty. When you unexpectedly offer up the rest of your clothes to someone who wants to take your jacket, you’re making it obvious how little you have, while at the same time exposing the extent of your enemy’s greed.
OKAY, FINAL THOUGHT (for real this time)
If you’re poor, you don’t worry about being robbed.
I’m not the first person that’s ever been robbed in Comas. Native Limeños get robbed here, too. But not poor ones. The advantage Limeños have is that they will probably be okay as long as they don’t look obviously wealthy or have something worth stealing (based on clothes, jewelry etc). If you’re a tall white person, however, you probably run the risk of being robbed no matter what kind of clothes you have on. Because our country is just so much wealthier than the rest of the world. Want to stop illegal immigration? Terrorism? Crime and theft against US citizens* traveling abroad? Then get rid of the despicable gap in the distribution of wealth between U.S. and the rest of the world.
FREQUENTLY ASKED QUESTIONS (I think…)
Q: Why would you make all of this public knowledge? Isn’t this just unnecessarily worrying your friends/family? Don’t you have some sort of rule that says “what happens in Peru stays in Peru”?
A: Yes, I’ve obviously questioned the wisdom in making all of this public. I care very much about my family’s peace of mind. I don’t want them to unnecessarily worry. But they were going to worry anyway. And I’m too honest of a person to try and “hide” it until I’ve safely returned home. Originally, I started writing this just as a personal way to reflect and process my thoughts about what happened. I wasn’t planning on sharing it. However, the experiences of the past week obviously made a big impression on me, and it seems almost impossible not to share. Furthermore, I’ve also realized during my 6 weeks here so far that I’m not just a “missionary” to my partner congregations here in Lima, but more importantly, I’m a missionary to the United States. As far as actually “preaching the Gospel” in the traditional sense with which we often associate “missionaries,” I think I am supposed to do much more “testifying” to the folks back home than the people here in Peru. As I continue to serve here in Lima, I want to openly and sincerely share my experiences of Christ and culture with everyone in the States. I want you to see another part of the world through my eyes, so you can “serve through me” without actually being here. And that means sharing the messy, hard, scary parts as well as the fluffy, happy, feel-good parts, because some times the scary parts have more to teach us than the happy ones.
Q: Wow, it really took you that long to figure out the whole “being a missionary to the US” part of the YAV program?
A: Yes. Shut up.
Q: Are you changing your habits (not just your general philosophy on life) in light of being robbed? [PLEASE READ THIS IF YOU PLAN ON COMMENTING/EMAILING ME TO GIVE ME ADVICE!!!]
A: Yes. If I’m ever out after dark, someone comes to walk me home. I never leave home on my own after dark. When possible, I get someone to accompany me whenever I’m going somewhere. I never carry more money than I need (usually not more than about $3 or $4 worth). If I’m getting money from an ATM or casa de cambio, I get someone to come with me. I always carry a PHOTOCOPY (not the real thing) of my passport. I never take candy from strangers (okay, obviously that’s not true – I BUY candy from strangers, but I never take it for free). I visibly carry my bible everywhere I go (for more info, see above).
Q: Are you voting absentee?
A: Yes, already sent in my ballot. ¡Obámanos!
FUN FACT: Double spaced, 1” margins with 12 point Times New Roman font, this journal entry is over 16 pages long – longer than any paper I’ve ever written.
*[Another side note: I say “US citizen” instead of “American,” because I’m still in “America.” Spanish has both an adjective and a noun to describe people from the United States. English doesn’t. I’m still working on it. Could I say “ex-pat?” I’ve hear that word a lot in reference to people from the United States in other countries, and I think I qualify, but I’ve never been 100% clear on what “ex-pat” means….]
Wednesday, October 1, 2008
Random thoughts and anecdotes
This past Saturday, I played fulbito (mini-soccer) with some youth from Kilometer 13 church and the surrounding neighborhood. They were all a whole lot better than I was, but they were still nice enough to let me play. If I play every Saturday, maybe by the end of the year, I’ll be halfway decent.
After the worship service at Santa Isabel on Sunday, I went to lunch at the house of Juan Ambrosio and his family. Juan is the president of the consistorio (the church’s governing body) of Santa Isabel, and he’s the person who has designed the schedule for my placement there. In the back of the house, they have a little pen filled with guinea pigs. When I saw the guinea pigs, I hesitantly asked Juan if they were pets or food, even though I already knew the answer. Of course, he told me they were for food. They were just so cute though…. We didn’t eat guinea pig for lunch that day, we just had soup. But I learned in orientation that guinea pig (known as “cuy” in Peru) is a Peruvian delicacy, especially in the mountains/rural areas, so I’ll probably have to eat it some time. Because it’s such a special food, you can’t really politely refuse it. To decline cuy would be very offensive.
As Young Adult Volunteers, our job isn’t really to teach the people in our placement sites how we do things as “advanced,” “modern” westerners. Really, we’re just supposed to be present and form meaningful relationships, rather than produce tangible changes or “improvements.” We should be doing more listening than talking and more learning than teaching. But I think I might have to break this rule in order to teach the congregations of Kilometer 13 and Santa Isabel something that will revolutionize the way they experience contemporary Christian music. It’s rather simple: you clap your hands on beats 2 and 4, not 1 and 3. Those of you who aren’t musically inclined might not know what I’m talking about, but if you are, you probably know EXACTLY what I mean. Unless the band is practicing the song for the first time and doesn’t have a drummer, you just don’t clap on 1 and 3. When they learn this, it’s gonna be big…
A couple weeks ago, I went to a concert at the UBL (University Biblica Latinamerica) by a group called Siembra. Siembra is a Christian folkloric Peruvian music group. Quite simply, they were amazing. They sing beautiful harmonies about God, peace, and the Peruvian people and land. Their instruments include the guitar, a drum, churango (mini-guitar) and zampoña (or something like that – I can never remember what it’s called, let alone how it’s spelled – it’s basically windpipes). They kinda sound like the Peter Paul and Mary of Peru. They’ve been around for awhile and have made a lot of CDs – I bought a double CD “anthology” at the end of the concert for a whopping 10 sols (about $3.50). If you like folk/acoustic/Spanish/traditional music, you should look them up.
Damaris calls me “Aleps.” She’s perfectly capable of saying “Alex,” but for some reason, she prefers “Aleps.” Don’t ask me why. I first thought this was pretty annoying, and I used to correct her every time she said it. But now I think it’s kind of endearing.
This past week, I was finally asked to pray in front of everybody for the first time. Twice, in fact. Once before “class” started in the Compassion program, and another time at the end of worship this past Sunday at Santa Isabel. I won’t say it was a piece of cake, but I got through it. At least God knew what I was trying to say…
I’ve finally figured out why all the food here is so heavy on grains and meat! It’s just because that’s what Peruvians consider to be a balanced diet. I discovered this in the kitchen of Kilometer 13 Church, where the cooks prepare the kids’ lunches in the Compassion program. Painted on the wall of the kitchen is Peru’s version of the “Food Guide Pyramid.” Except instead of a pyramid, it’s a pie graph (no pun intended). The pie graph has three sections: grains, meats/dairy, and fruits/vegetables. Grains account for 60% - and included in the “grains” group picture is flour, potatoes, rice, SODA, VEGETABLE OIL, and CANDY. Yes, I’m not kidding, there is a picture of a bottle of vegetable oil, a bottle of “Inca Cola” (the local favorite soft drink), and pieces of candy included in this nutrition graph. The meats and dairy section of the graph accounts for 30%, and the “fruits AND vegetables section only gets 10%. Yes, this is quite odd from our point of view. But it makes sense to me, because these percentages are pretty much exactly what I’ve had to here in Lima for the past month.
I have decided that the reason soccer isn’t popular to watch on TV in the United States is money. Soccer is non-stop action. There are no timeouts except for halftime. There are only quick moments of downtime when someone gets injured and after a team scores a goal (but it’s pretty common to have games in which no goals are scored). Even when there’s a penalty, the “quick restart” is part of the strategy of the game. For these reasons, you just can’t show commercials during soccer broadcasts. It doesn’t work. Instead, of futbol, we watch football, which is the KING of convenient breaks in the action to show commercials – timeouts, changes of possession, quarter breaks, touchdowns, field goals, etc. (Don’t forget my favorite – the “two minute warning.” Ha!) “America’s pastime,” baseball, requires breaks every half inning, and in basketball each team gets a million timeouts. Soccer is the most popular sport all over the world except for the US…. Hmmmm, maybe now we know why.
After the worship service at Santa Isabel on Sunday, I went to lunch at the house of Juan Ambrosio and his family. Juan is the president of the consistorio (the church’s governing body) of Santa Isabel, and he’s the person who has designed the schedule for my placement there. In the back of the house, they have a little pen filled with guinea pigs. When I saw the guinea pigs, I hesitantly asked Juan if they were pets or food, even though I already knew the answer. Of course, he told me they were for food. They were just so cute though…. We didn’t eat guinea pig for lunch that day, we just had soup. But I learned in orientation that guinea pig (known as “cuy” in Peru) is a Peruvian delicacy, especially in the mountains/rural areas, so I’ll probably have to eat it some time. Because it’s such a special food, you can’t really politely refuse it. To decline cuy would be very offensive.
As Young Adult Volunteers, our job isn’t really to teach the people in our placement sites how we do things as “advanced,” “modern” westerners. Really, we’re just supposed to be present and form meaningful relationships, rather than produce tangible changes or “improvements.” We should be doing more listening than talking and more learning than teaching. But I think I might have to break this rule in order to teach the congregations of Kilometer 13 and Santa Isabel something that will revolutionize the way they experience contemporary Christian music. It’s rather simple: you clap your hands on beats 2 and 4, not 1 and 3. Those of you who aren’t musically inclined might not know what I’m talking about, but if you are, you probably know EXACTLY what I mean. Unless the band is practicing the song for the first time and doesn’t have a drummer, you just don’t clap on 1 and 3. When they learn this, it’s gonna be big…
A couple weeks ago, I went to a concert at the UBL (University Biblica Latinamerica) by a group called Siembra. Siembra is a Christian folkloric Peruvian music group. Quite simply, they were amazing. They sing beautiful harmonies about God, peace, and the Peruvian people and land. Their instruments include the guitar, a drum, churango (mini-guitar) and zampoña (or something like that – I can never remember what it’s called, let alone how it’s spelled – it’s basically windpipes). They kinda sound like the Peter Paul and Mary of Peru. They’ve been around for awhile and have made a lot of CDs – I bought a double CD “anthology” at the end of the concert for a whopping 10 sols (about $3.50). If you like folk/acoustic/Spanish/traditional music, you should look them up.
Damaris calls me “Aleps.” She’s perfectly capable of saying “Alex,” but for some reason, she prefers “Aleps.” Don’t ask me why. I first thought this was pretty annoying, and I used to correct her every time she said it. But now I think it’s kind of endearing.
This past week, I was finally asked to pray in front of everybody for the first time. Twice, in fact. Once before “class” started in the Compassion program, and another time at the end of worship this past Sunday at Santa Isabel. I won’t say it was a piece of cake, but I got through it. At least God knew what I was trying to say…
I’ve finally figured out why all the food here is so heavy on grains and meat! It’s just because that’s what Peruvians consider to be a balanced diet. I discovered this in the kitchen of Kilometer 13 Church, where the cooks prepare the kids’ lunches in the Compassion program. Painted on the wall of the kitchen is Peru’s version of the “Food Guide Pyramid.” Except instead of a pyramid, it’s a pie graph (no pun intended). The pie graph has three sections: grains, meats/dairy, and fruits/vegetables. Grains account for 60% - and included in the “grains” group picture is flour, potatoes, rice, SODA, VEGETABLE OIL, and CANDY. Yes, I’m not kidding, there is a picture of a bottle of vegetable oil, a bottle of “Inca Cola” (the local favorite soft drink), and pieces of candy included in this nutrition graph. The meats and dairy section of the graph accounts for 30%, and the “fruits AND vegetables section only gets 10%. Yes, this is quite odd from our point of view. But it makes sense to me, because these percentages are pretty much exactly what I’ve had to here in Lima for the past month.
I have decided that the reason soccer isn’t popular to watch on TV in the United States is money. Soccer is non-stop action. There are no timeouts except for halftime. There are only quick moments of downtime when someone gets injured and after a team scores a goal (but it’s pretty common to have games in which no goals are scored). Even when there’s a penalty, the “quick restart” is part of the strategy of the game. For these reasons, you just can’t show commercials during soccer broadcasts. It doesn’t work. Instead, of futbol, we watch football, which is the KING of convenient breaks in the action to show commercials – timeouts, changes of possession, quarter breaks, touchdowns, field goals, etc. (Don’t forget my favorite – the “two minute warning.” Ha!) “America’s pastime,” baseball, requires breaks every half inning, and in basketball each team gets a million timeouts. Soccer is the most popular sport all over the world except for the US…. Hmmmm, maybe now we know why.
Parasailing!!!
On Monday, I jumped off a cliff. Several hundred feet in the air. Yep. With a parachute. And a trained parasailor strapped to my back. (Sailor = one who sails. Parasailor = one who parasails. Yes I made that up, but I think it works). I met up with Miriam, a friend from Trinity University (where I went to school) who’s studying abroad here in Lima this semester. We both wanted to go parasailing, so she brought along a few friends from her program (all of whom opted to watch instead of fly…) and we went out to the cliffs at Miraflores where all of the Parasailing companies are. Miraflores is the ritzy, touristy district of Lima, and parasailing is one of THE touristy things to do.
To go parasailing, all you need is wind, something to jump off of, a harness and a parachute. You go to your windy cliff, strap on your parachute, run hard to get the parachute in the air above you (kind of like flying a really, really big kite), and then just run off the cliff. After that, all you do is sit back, relax, and let the professional parasailor do the flying, while you take lots of pictures. Once we were up in the air, flying along the Peruvian coast and over the streets and buildings of Lima, all my fear actually disappeared. The beginning part – jumping off the cliff – is pretty scary, but the actual flying is extremely calm and peaceful. “Breathtaking” is putting it mildly. Luckily, the weather was just about as good as it gets in Lima. Check out the link to the pictures.
After we went parasailing, we ate ice-cream in one of the Miraflores shopping malls on the cliff that overlooks the beach. Then I got on the bus for my 2 hour ride back to my house in Comas during the Monday rush-hour. Miraflores is like a totally different world from Comas. A group of gringos speaking English is commonplace in Miraflores (which is exactly what we were). I did more talking in English yesterday hanging out with Miriam and her friends than I had done since orientation. Overall, it was really fun to take a day to be a touristy “American” (yes, I know South Americans are “American” too, but unlike Spanish, a word meaning “United States-ean doesn’t exist in English). I got a chance to share some of my thoughts and experiences with people who shared some of my perspectives. But at the same time, I also got a little taste of what the “reverse culture shock” is going to be like when I go back to the states after my year in Peru is finished. It feels weird to think that I probably spent more money yesterday in 5 hours (just by eating and parasailing) than I probably did in the previous two or three weeks combined. And the parasailing was NOT expensive by US standards – only $35.
But I have no regrets. How often do human beings get to fly...?
If you're ever looking for me
Don't forget to look above
Because I still believe in flying
And I still believe in Love
- David Lamotte
To go parasailing, all you need is wind, something to jump off of, a harness and a parachute. You go to your windy cliff, strap on your parachute, run hard to get the parachute in the air above you (kind of like flying a really, really big kite), and then just run off the cliff. After that, all you do is sit back, relax, and let the professional parasailor do the flying, while you take lots of pictures. Once we were up in the air, flying along the Peruvian coast and over the streets and buildings of Lima, all my fear actually disappeared. The beginning part – jumping off the cliff – is pretty scary, but the actual flying is extremely calm and peaceful. “Breathtaking” is putting it mildly. Luckily, the weather was just about as good as it gets in Lima. Check out the link to the pictures.
After we went parasailing, we ate ice-cream in one of the Miraflores shopping malls on the cliff that overlooks the beach. Then I got on the bus for my 2 hour ride back to my house in Comas during the Monday rush-hour. Miraflores is like a totally different world from Comas. A group of gringos speaking English is commonplace in Miraflores (which is exactly what we were). I did more talking in English yesterday hanging out with Miriam and her friends than I had done since orientation. Overall, it was really fun to take a day to be a touristy “American” (yes, I know South Americans are “American” too, but unlike Spanish, a word meaning “United States-ean doesn’t exist in English). I got a chance to share some of my thoughts and experiences with people who shared some of my perspectives. But at the same time, I also got a little taste of what the “reverse culture shock” is going to be like when I go back to the states after my year in Peru is finished. It feels weird to think that I probably spent more money yesterday in 5 hours (just by eating and parasailing) than I probably did in the previous two or three weeks combined. And the parasailing was NOT expensive by US standards – only $35.
But I have no regrets. How often do human beings get to fly...?
If you're ever looking for me
Don't forget to look above
Because I still believe in flying
And I still believe in Love
- David Lamotte
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