Marci Soifer

Deep breath. Here´s the news...my litle immune system just might have come through this time. There was a moment-one brief, shining moment-when I thought that I was done for. But, with the newly attuned skills I seem to be building to listen and hear my body (skills that come in handy not only when living in an infested house, but also when hiking hundreds of feet up and struggling to breathe), at the first twinge of stomache pain, I popped my anti-biotic. I am not a medicine popping kind of person under normal circumstances, but this is preventative. And, proudly, seems to be successful. Thus, if you are one of the people who is concerned about my health, rest easy. The plague may have spared me...but that was a close one.

Moving along, two interesting things happened in prison today, but both of them were totally internal (again, not an illness).

1-Today was the first day that I really spoke to the women. I had exchanged a few words or broken sentences here and there, and felt a bit discouraged, but I am proud to note that my Spanish is actually improving...I engaged conversation today. It was not only great to express myself and to understand their words, but it was genuinely confidence building. There was a spectacular moment, while I stood, banging and waiting at the barred gate to the children´s area, en route to the women´s side. In the minutes I stood locked inside the children´s area, an incarcerated man approached me. He was wearing both long sleeves and pants in dark hues, torn and coated in a dark soot (just dirty), and lacked teeth or much hair. His wrinkles identified him as an older man, and I was not looking forward to talking to him (I, as well as the other volunteers, steer clear of interaction with the men, for no reason other than the vibe about them being rather aggressive and intimidating). However, we exchanged a few sentences, and he went ahead to get the guard for me. He returned to let me know that the guard was on the way, and we actually were able to carry conversation. He told me told me that he was from Iraq and asked me all about what the United States is like. Our conversation was mostly as follows, ïn my country...¨and ïn my country...¨. There is much to learn from these people, and I am exstatic that I can finally understand (at least, a little).

2-Today was the first day that my work with the kids and the women felt normal, or usual. I am getting progressively more used to my life here, and my job. I have gotten to know the personalities of each child, which is amazingly simple to identify without the use of language. For example, I know that Jorge Luiz is just shy enough to hide behind his mother for the first 30 minutes until he notices an activity that he feels brave enough to embark upon, and will then run to me and lock his arms around my knees. Or, I know that Daisy will likely hit, push, or pull the hair of every child who comes near her and I must grab her arms pretty much each time I see them moving up for a kill (to prevent mass hysteria). In other words, the women kiss me when I come and go, and the kids are slowly transitioning from calling me ¨senorita¨ to ¨Marci¨ (and by slowly, I mean, it´s going to take a while longer to really get it, but we are getting there).

The majority of people on my program have expired time in Ayacucho and will leave Saturday morning, which I think will be rather strange. Our meal tables will feel incomplete, and the general laughter that echoes from our living room following dinner will quiet. I know that more people will be coming to fill the emptied beds and rooms in mid-January, but it is strange to realize that I am now the constant-I am the one who will be here when people come and go. But, I am planning a trip to the Peruvian coast, have gotten immersed in writing with my IPOD on our building roof during my downtime, and am obviously still invested in my job, so I think I´ll be okay.

Alright, I´m off for now. Thanks for the messages-it´s good to hear from you. Take care.