Marci Soifer

I have finally found a place where things move just slow enough for me. I am getting really into the siesta in the afternoon, the slow pace of pedrestrians on the street, and the welcoming kisses and hugs that everyone I meet takes time to give. The Peruvians live in a poor nation, with a corrupt government, and a dark history, but they seem to enjoy moments, and one another.

I got a real taste of the contrasting Peruvian relaxed attitude with the fast paced, anxious Americans last night. I mentioned in the previous posting that I planned to attend a concert in a main plaza in Ayaucho. I went, I got a drink, and sat down, with what seemed like hundreds of younger Peruvians wearing tailor outfits (this culture still dresses up to go out, at least for evenings). There we were, and the band just never showed up. No one seemed to mind...and, I didn´t really either. I enjoyed my drink, and watching the crowd.

Work inside was frustrating today. The women and children were together today, as the women prepared busily for Christmas. They washed clothing in shallow buckets, and cleaned the children´s hair in the same buckets. The other volunteers inside with me spent the day conversing with the women and helping with what tasks they could. I spent my time with the children, incidentaly, as their jungle gym. I had fun with them, naturally, but got lost in my thoughts somewhere between piggy backs and backflips.

I have to walk past these women and go to their children, because these toddlers understand my jumbled, backward Spanish as well as toddlers in the US understand any English (here and there), and I struggle to communicate with the adults. I know they understand and are not offended, but it is increasingly more difficult to pass up the ability to give more to or get more out of this experience. I struggle listening to their stories or tell them about myself, despite an apparent, strong desire on both sides. Upon my arrival home today, I decided that it´s time to make flashcards. I have to learn faster.

I am leaving in the morning for the llama trek. To prepare, I am gathering all long sleeves and sweatshirt type things. I plan to wear pretty much everything I have at once, to outfit myself for 20 degrees. It should be adequate...I hope.

Other than that, I will be thinking of you, as most of you prepare to light your menorah and eat latkes or drink eggnog and open presents from under the tree. Either way, or any way, happy holidays.

It may have been a maximum security prison in Peru under 85 degrees in the middle of a desserted, dry valley lined with cacti, but today, it was Christmas inside, and it was fantastic. I was a little nervous, because my normal group of myself and two other volunteers turned into 17 of us, entering the prison to really create a celebration. I did not know how this was going to go over with the mothers or children, with so many people, and even another volunteer costumed as Santa. However, I was pleasantly surprised.

We played salsa, danced, played musical chairs, and ate the cookies. The women made us hot chocolate, which they just call milk, at the oven in the childrens section (I told them I had a bad stomach and had to refuse...i know how to say that politely, dont worry). We gave each child a present, from their respective spots on our Santas lap, which they all immedaitely opened and played with proudly. The mothers thanked and thanked us, with hugs and kisses that are traditional of greetings or gratitude in Peru. The children laughed and smiled, except for the few who had never seen a person in costume before, who spent the duration of the party screaming and crying each time Santa came near.

I spent the entire party with a little boy named Willy, who I had warmly met a few days ago. He is small, a little 2 year-old, who has a head of tight curls, which is unique in Peru. He looks the way I did when I was really small, with the curls, but his are obviously cared for differently than mine. Willy HATED Santa and refused to go near even the room where Santa danced. We played outside for a long time and finally brought him close enough to the door that we could sit in the doorway and watch, my back against the door frame and him sitting in my lap. We held hands and I moved his little hands around with some bouncing of my legs to the music. I tickled him and made funny noises with my lips, and he echoed, which resulted really in him just unintentionally spitting a little here and there. Every few minutes, I would try to get him up and dancing, and we get up and a moment would pass, and Willy would be down again. Eentually, I noticed that his little head was moving from my chest, down to my hip. Looking down to see what was wrong, I noticed that he just fell asleep. His mother danced and danced with the other women and children, and I was glad to see her smiling, so I let Willy sleep and sleep, right in my lap.

Eventually, Willy woke up to recieve his cookie and gift from Santa, which he seemed able to handle when he realized that he would get a toy truck out of it. And, when we left, I went to say goodbye to him and let him know that I would be back tomorrow, only to then recieve his little kiss on my cheek. I think I may have a new friend.

Tonight, I will go to a nearby plaza for a concert. The (this is the part when I would use the quotation marks if I could figure out how to on this computer) best band in Ayacucho i performing, and the apparently are a great Green Day and Beatles cover band...sounds interesting. I will pass on how it goes.

Later...

Alright, so it happened. I knew it was coming, I prepared with a thick slather of my 50 spf, and tried to wear long sleeves when I could handle the heat (which is fickle, depending on the time of day). However, the Peruvian sun hit me right on the face. My cheeks are the kind of red that would bring envy to those women who wear so much foundation and blush that they resemble clowns. I´m not in pain, don´t worry. I´ll live. And, I am proud to report that the myriad of freckles on my shoulders and arms, which obviously quadruple in number with sun, are even attracting more attenion from the Peruvians, who rarely freckle. Too bad I can´t really talk to them about it...but they seem to get a real laugh. And, I laugh too, because why not?

In other news, today was day two inside the Ayacucho prison. I learned that on the men´s side, they also run many shops, workshops, and stores, to generate money (anyone need a suit from inside...because there is a tailor, as well as a wood craftsmen, many male knitters, and even a few men who create athletic shirts?).

It was visiting day, but only for women and children. On Sundays, men from the outside are permitted to enter. I found it very interesting that while all Peruvian women entering must wear skirts in order to provide guards easy access to anything they may be bringing on them, I could wear pants, or pretty much whatever I please. Visiting day means that there were about double the number of children and women gathered in the women´s yard, and I played with tons of them. The women continually tried to talk to me, which is still frustrating for us both, but I´m learning...steadily. I know how to tell them about how badly I want to understand, and I can answer a lot of their questions if they repeat themselves a few times, while I cannot ask much of them (this totally omits the women who only speak Qechua). However, another volunteer, who is a solid Spanish speaker, spent a great deal of time talking with a few knitting women from of the row of embroiderers sitting against the wall of the yard. She found out that contrary to our observations from yesteday, most of the women´s cells hold 5 each, and one person must sleep on the cold, cement floor, nearby the ¨bathroom¨ hole.

The children were fun today. Still aggresive, undisciplined, and a little on the dirty side, but are loving, happy, and interested in becoming friends (the way a 3-year-old wants to hold your hand, and consider you the best friend he has ever had, even though they call me ¨senorita¨ in lieu of pronouncing ¨Marci¨). I played airplane and tossed a few in the air a few times, finding that every, single child needed to be tossed as well (my back was thrilled). I can tell their education level is low, as many of them do not know their colors (even the eldest), do not know numbers, and do not know a lot of words. When I ask what something is, just to get the word out, they reply that they do not know. However, I am learning a new vocabulary from working with them, like ¨be nice¨, ¨don´t bite¨, ¨¨stop hitting¨, and of course, ¨no more piggy-back rides¨. Tomorrow is a Christmas party we will throw for the kids. It is complete with cookies baked tonight (they don´t sell chocolate chips in this city...we had to break up chocolate bars) and another volunteer costumed as Santa. I am excited, and you should be too (because you will undoubtedly read all about it).

We also ventured to see the excavated city of the Wari (the Wari ruins) and the nearby city of Quinoa (and yes, the grain comes from here), where the Spanish and Peruvians fought the final battle for Peru´s independence. They were absolutely beautiful, and made me think, for almost the first time since I arrived in Peru, that I found two spots that my father would have really loved to see. I stood before the monument in Quinoa and thought of my dad, and all I could do was allow my glance to move from the monument to each spot where the clouds met the lush Andes surrounding me.

And, you will be glad ot know that I signed up for a llama trek this weekend. That´s right...I will spend Christmas/Hannukah at 6000 feet, and will seriously have to debate bringing the disposable menorah that my mother threw into my backpack. Just kidding...I might have to save that for second night of Hannukah, otherwise known as Sunday night.

I hope all is well for today. Return soon...

Day 1 on my volunteer job is over, and I have much to share. I woke up this morning, totally unsure of what to expect. However, the only thing that I could think to referrence was my experiences in a handful of Michigan prisons, as an audience member for the productions put on by the U of M Prison Creative Arts Project workshops (a group with which my community in college was particularly active).

Prison in Peru is nothing at all like any facility in Michigan, or the entire US, I would imagine. We walked up to the entry, and exchanged our ID (my Michigan driver´s license...not even passport) with the uniformed guard. He stamped our arms, and laughed with our volunteer placement coordinator that he didn´t need to see her ID, cause he had seen her before. We then moved inside, through one small gate, where another guard in uniform, looked in our bags casually, and allowed the volunteer placement coordinator to bring in cans of whipped cream and decorations for a Christmas party we will have inside later this week. She found some tampons in my bag and didn´t know what they were, which is something really difficult to explain in limited Spanish to a Peruvian woman who doesn´t speak English.

We then preceeded further inside, just through hallways and corridors. The first thing that I noticed was that the cement ground had clearly been met by human waste on many ocassions and the people in sight were unable to concern themselves with hygiene (the odor was pungent), and had been diluted by a bit of dirty rain water. We were greeted by a few women, who smiled and laughed with the coordinator. They were wearing street clothes. As soon as they moved on, I learned that these women are incarcerated. No prisoner inside was wearing a uniform, and some of the guards could not be distinguished from prisoners. People wore either street clothes or traditional dress, with bright skits and knit clothing. In addition, the prisoners are permitted to wander throughout the facility until 5 pm daily, when they must return to their cells. Guards stand at different doorways, but it seems as though they have little to say.

We walked through the mens side first, where many congregated in the yard in the center. This yard was a basketball court, and on one side was decorated by large, illuminated looms that shone with brightly colored yarn facing the other side, a wall decorated by advertisements for Coca Cola and Inca Kola, the local soda (tastes like licorice). There were many men assembled in the yard, listening to a lecture on AIDS, which I could not understand at all.

The women´s side was our next stop, through a crowded corridor where women and men watched us walk through and politely wished us a good day, and another gate with a guard. This area was truly amazing. The women have cells that hold four each, and have a small hole for a toilet in the center. The beds are cement blocks no wider or longer than your body is wide and your car door is long. They hold one small matress for one woman, or if you have a child, you must sleep with him or her there as well. The amazing piece was that the inside of each cell is a small kiosk. The women have tons of products, from goods, to phone cards, to dairy products, and everything in between, and they sell these products to one another. They were all sitting and laying on a dusty, cement yard, knitting beautiful pieces furiously. I have never seen someone knit so quickly, and professionally. The products of their labor are also sold to support themselves inside, their children on the outside, and provide for hope of a free future. I can purchase some of these products at the prison market which was set up near my house. I also met a women who has lupis and must remain untreated and suffering, since the single doctor for the thousand prisoners really only gives out IB Profin and knows nothing about lupis. The people inside call him, ¨Dr. IP Profin¨, and it is not meant affectionately.

Next, on to the children´s section. This was also gated, but not guarded, and apparently, many of the men come to the gate and laugh as they teach the children words for the female anatomy and curses, ect (of course the children repeat these terms all the time, in search of more laughs...I didn´t laugh). Their yard is also horribly kept, and had tons of evidence of waste (scent of urine) among the weeds and rusty, broken swing set. There are 14 children who are half-way watched and half-way cared for by an alternation of three mothers at a time. The kids stay here all day, unless they are ill, and then they go to their mother. They get very little positive attention, and absolutely no discipline, supervision, or education, as their mothers often do not know how to offer such attention. They hit, run, kick, bite...the whole deal. And, in four hours with them, I learned more Spanish than I did in any year of high school. It is also clear that they have no hygenic practices, and little clothing. The most astonding piece was that they have very few toys...maybe two books that are torn are ruined, and a couple handfuls of toys...and, they use old cans to build with, that have an open end that feels like a razor blade (but they don´t seem to get hurt, remarkably).

They play, and liked to laugh with me and smile. It is clear that these children have held on to their innocent happiness. Three of the children were concieved and birthed inside, so this life is really all they know. And, the others were too young when they were transported inside to recall freedom. They are 2-5 years old.

The women and men definetly exude negative energy, but seem to be opperating life as it is inside, in something that resembles a strong community. I already know they have strong spirits.

Alright, that is the synopsis of day 1 inside. Until next time...

I have spent the last 24 hours eating, sleeping, and getting familiar with Ayacucho. I went with the group of volunteers (from my program) to a local soup kitchen, orphanage, and clinic, as a random sampling of some of the volunteer sites. The soup kitchen was very small, antiquated in most respects, and makes food for hundreds of people. The women who work there are volunteers, and are forced to work for free in order to earn food for themselves and their children, who play at their feet before the stove. The orphanage I visited is huge and houses boys ages 6-16. The boys were so excited to see us and our cameras, which fascinated them and made them all want to pose like models, echoing one another´s laughter. They affectionately called us ¨gringitos¨, which is the affectionate term for white people, or tourists, or in our case, volunteers (otherwise, we are called ¨gringos¨). I was really interested (and not at all surprised) to find that the clinic, while clean and relatively large (it serves an entire neghborhood), was far, far below adequate for the thousands of Peruvians who require the care. The departments were small and the people stood for long periods of time in massive groups, awaiting attention. But, although I could not say much to them, we exchanged many smiles. One thing that I found really interesting about the clinic is that on the wall of a room inside, near the entry, there is a deatiled map of the entire neighborhood. On this map, there are tons and tons of push pinned icons of pregnant women (they are small, detail-less pictures of women with bellies), meant to indicate where the pregnant women live. The icons that were yellow were the healthy mothers, and the icons that were red were those at risk. There were far more red than yellow, but we were assured that the single doctor who works at this clinic and two obstatricians actually make home visits to all of the pregnant women. And, we were all invited to view a few of them giving birth. Not sure if I´ll be taking up that invitation...

I also walked through the town, or as I have discovered, the city. This is a real city, with a small unversity and a plaza with much commerce and a fantastic market. I found a man who has been weaving textiles for 80 years and creates art on rugs that mimic Dali...it´s amazing. And, a family who takes stones off the street and maniputes the rock for as much as ten years with small tools to create grand statues (and they had a large plastic figure of Barney Rubble, which I thought was rather poetic...and hysterical). And, I started my Spanish classes today...which is great, because I think that I might actually get some of the language out soon. Phew.

This is especially good because tomorrow morning, I will begin my volunteer placement. I am happy to report that the placement is what I originally thought---I will work inside the Ayacucho prison. I will mainly work on the women´s side, which is dramatically smaller than the men´s side (it is split) and holds mostly women who have been arrested on charges on drug trafficing (cocaine is a huge crop in the Andes). I will be inside to work with the children of these women. The Peruvian government forcibly encourages the children (under the age of 6, contrary to my original guess of much older) of incarcerated parents to join them inside. This means that these children are also incarcerated, and remain without much attention or education. When the children grow and their parents are still serving a sentence, they must move to an orphanage. I will be working with these children, which is great because while I may struggle to speak to their parents, I know that the children will understand that hugs are pretty universal.

I will post tomorrow to let you know how things go, and any news or updates from Ayacucho.

I write this entry from a small internet cafe outside a bustling market in Ayacucho. I have slept and showered, after my long night in the Lima ariport, waiting for my early morning flight to Ayacucho. Ayacucho is an hour and half flight from Lima (at only 6 am daily), and since I arrived and got through immigration by 1230, it was a really long night. I met up with some other volunteers, from my program and otherwise, so I had someone to talk to, keep me awake, and share stories (and some laughs...it wasnt all terrible). I found myself spending an hour offering this random German man, a 19-year-old guy en route to visit his German girlfriend in another small Peruvian village, love advice. It was rather backward, considering A-his English was hardly understandable and B-I dont know why he thought I could help him. Anyway, bottom line, I have confirmed the rumor that meeting travelers is going to make this adventure just that, and even more interesting.

My house is amazing. It is very nice, I think, and has about 12 rooms for other volunteers. The rooms feel big, and maybe that is because I only brought a backpack (I know...surprise) and dont have much to fill my space. I share with this other girl, who actually was born in Tel Aviv and now lives on Long Island, for the time being, but she will leave in three weeks and be replaced. Most of the people live on the second floor, and I dont have any idea how this happened, but I live in the sole room on the roof with the most beautiful view of the Andes and the community from my window, and from the porch/roof top outside my room.

The city itself is small, but full of what feels like the most vibrant culture I have seen. The people seem outgoing, although for some reason, each time I try to communicate, Hebrew comes out instead of Spanish. And, while Qechua sounds interesting, I dont know that I will be learning it while I am here...it is really difficult to pronounce, and I am focused on Spanish. I am really excited to start my volunteer placement tomorrow and actually see this communty from the inside, as opposed to the observations I report from today, a day of exploration. Contrary to what I may have mentioned before, I am still unsure of exactly what I will be doing, as the needs of this community seem to change all the time and things are chaotic now since the schools just let out for summer vacation (right in time for Christmas). But, when I know, I will share.

I think that is all for the moment. Thanks for reading...more to come.