Saturday, June 24, 2006

Tomorrow is my last day in Chijnaya. In the morning, we volunteers are going to visit a town nearby called Lampa. It’s supposed to be a quaint little pueblo with pink buildings and a charming church. Oddly, I haven’t been in one church since I got here. Every church I’ve been near has been closed when I was there. Sunday morning should be a good time to find one open.

Tomorrow afternoon is part two of the Feria Chijnaya, which is basically a livestock show and competition. Today was sheep and alpacas, and tomorrow is the big event—cows. Last year, my family’s cow Olivia won first place. This time around she’s in her last two months of pregnancy and isn’t giving a drop of milk. Once the calf is born, however, she’ll probably be breaking records again.

We’ve had several people sick this week with various illnesses: colds, fevers, vomiting, diarrhea and general malaise. Lolly and I are the only two who have stayed healthy so far. Our host families keep telling us the reason everyone is getting sick is because of the wind and the cold. I’m staying wrapped up, so maybe that is helping. I’ve been eating anything they put in front of me, including raw veggies, which are supposed to be a no-no for travelers. Maybe I’m just lucky.

Yesterday afternoon a strange thing happened. Suddenly the sky filled with clouds and the wind started blowing hard. It looked like a sandstorm outside because it hasn’t rained once since I got here. An hour or so later, it started to rain. It wasn’t really a hard or continuous rain, but enough to turn the dust into a slick, muddy surface over hard-packed dirt roads. It was cloudy all night and this morning, and it rained again around 2 p.m. Finally the sun peeked out, and now the sky is completely clear.

Speaking of which, you can see every star in the southern sky on a clear night here. The Milky Way is a fuzzy white band that arcs across the sky each night. Chijnaya does have street lights, but they go off at 10 p.m. From then on, the view is breathtaking. There are no lights anywhere nearby, not one single plane has flown over in three weeks, and it’s silent except for the occasional braying donkeys and barking dogs. Tomorrow night will be my last chance to see this view.

Tomorrow evening there will be some sort of going away party for me. Everyone has been asking me for the last week when I’m coming back. I tell them I’d love to return again next summer, but it’s an expensive trip and I don’t know if I can swing it. I’d really love for Diego and Josh to come (and the whole town wants them to), but that would cost a small fortune for us. Hugo said that when I come back, they’ll slaughter a cow. I told him I’ll remember he said that.

Geronima and Hugo have been working like mad to finish the hand-embroidered vests for me, Diego and Josh. It’s so much work making them, but they really want to do it. I certainly am thrilled to bring home such unique gifts. I also put some tapestries on order so they can take their time making those. I will be purchasing them for myself and my family.

If you’re interested in a tapestry, let me know. I’ll have the vests and photos of some of my family’s commissioned work if you’d like to see samples. They’re interested in introducing their work in the US through the volunteers here. They can do anything you’d like, such as tapestries for holidays, weddings, new babies and anniversaries in any size or color and including names and dates. Now that they have Internet here, we’re going to be able to communicate via email, which will make special orders easy. It’s the coolest, most original gift ever.

Most of the work the Chijnayans do now is sold to tourists around Lake Titicaca in Los Uros. What Geronima and Hugo would like to do is move away from that market, which is increasingly artsy-craftsy, and return to the original designs and styles that were exhibited in the Smithsonian and reflect traditional life in the altiplano.

Hugo does most of the drawings in the family, and he’s working on an original series of sketches for future tapestries. I’m really excited to see what he develops. He now has colored pencils and a nice sketch book, so he can digitally photograph his drawings (with a camera donated by Joe Sisto) and email them to me before he and Geronima begin working on the tapestries.

So I’m down to my last 30 hours here, and it’s a bittersweet feeling. I miss Diego and Josh a lot, and I’m ready for city living again. But I’m sad to be leaving Chijnaya. My host family, the mayor, my students and everyone else in town have been so friendly and generous. I’ve enjoyed teaching English, but mostly getting to know the people here and their way of life. I feel like I won’t really be able to process the meaning of what I’ve done here until after I return home.

The thing that eats at me is the feeling that I might not be back, mostly because I can’t afford to. I’ve gotten to know the people here so well, that not returning seems bizarre, but what can I do? This trip went on a credit card—and it was well worth it—but I can’t keep doing that. And I can’t leave my family every summer. I don’t know. I can’t think about it now. Maybe things will become clearer in the intervening time.

Tomorrow’s going away party will be a hard one for me. For the last several days I’ve been trying not to think about it because I get choked up. I’ve been looking a little differently at the people around town, the students in my classes (all mine are adults), the children that beg me to take their picture just so they can see it on the camera afterwards, the dirt roads, the livestock that I’ve become accustomed to sharing the road with, my host family who provides me with a warm room, good food and plenty of great conversation. I wonder, what if I never see these people and this town again? Nayda and Jaqui and all the other kids in town will grow up and move on with their lives. The families here will stay on or move to a larger town. Chijnaya will grow and modernize slowly. And I will be a couple thousand miles away moving on with my life. There’s something really weird about it.

I was going to write a little going away speech, but I’ve decided to do it off the cuff instead. If I write it, it’ll be too long and I’ll probably be too overwhelmed to read it anyway. I’ll think of the right thing to say when the moment comes.

The remaining volunteers will be here for approximately three more weeks. I’ve become the mom around here for the other seven volunteers (who are about 19 years old). I’m going to miss them too, and it will be strange to be home knowing they’re still here. They’re a great group of young people, and I’m thrilled that I had the opportunity to work with them. They’ve got so much energy, optimism and goodwill. I love them all—Lolly, Becky, Brooke, Eunice, Joanne, Tanive and Derek. And also Jon who was here for the first week and is busy applying to med school and studying for the MCAT. And Joe who hooked me up with this opportunity and is making great strides in improving healthcare and providing medical supplies and personnel in Chijnaya.

I also want to thank Ralph Bolton for bringing me along on this trip. I’ve enjoyed getting to know him and learning more about Peru and Chijnaya through his experiences here. I hope to stay involved with the foundation and provide support from home, even if returning to Chijnaya isn’t something I can do anytime soon. I also want to thank David Cajo, the foundation’s Peruvian representative. He’s been a great support person here, he’s worked tirelessly to get things done, and he’s just plain fun to be around.

Most of all, the volunteers, foundation personnel and the people of Chijnaya have become my friends and I’m going to miss them deeply. They will be on my mind often, and I will always remember them with a smile and many wonderful memories. I hope our connections will extend beyond emails and phone calls. You’ve all been the greatest!

So it’s nearly 1 a.m. and my room is getting a little chilly. I think I’ll crawl into my sleeping bag and warm up. For the last two nights I’ve been dreaming that I was home, and I wake up a little sad that I’m not. Even so, it’s such a hard thing to say goodbye after an experience like this.