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.

Alright, for those of you who told me to bring the antibiotic, Cipro, on my adventure, I thank you. Not that I have needed it yet, but nearly everyone in my house has had an unfortunate gastro-intestinal bug, which apparently ravages your body the way that you imagine gastro-intestinal bugs to do (I know you are with me here...). So far, I have been spared, and am grateful. But, in the event that it hits me, despite my hourly hand washings and extremely precautious behavior, I will be exceedingly grateful to have the medication.

In other news, I had a great success inside today. The children were rather rambunctious, and I had the idea that if I could get them to sit together and listen, we could re-group. So, I pulled out a picture book following the Spanish alphabet (one of the few they have), grabbed a few of the most dominant personalities, and sat down. Before I knew it, I had three children in my lap and eleven surrounding me. They following my reading, and repeated the Spanish words with delightful laughter. It was hysterical. And, the few mothers who were nearby were echoing the children laughing...I mean, it was funny. The rest of the day was much less...what´s the word I´m looking for...insane. When the time came for me to go, one of the little girls (whom I would actually not call my friend) threw her arms around my neck and said, ¨NO!¨, and kissed my cheek. It was the perfect conclusion to the day.

I am still anxious about my language skills in Spanish, and my ability to connect with the women, despite great desire. Yesterday, some of the women asked us to teach a little English while we are inside. I would love to do that, and hope that I would be capable, but it is difficult to balance with my time and ease in communication with the kids.

While I work on building my confidence and vocabulary in Spanish, you should think healthy thoughts for me. Haha. And hey, don´t forget that when you read this blog, you can always respond to me...either on the blog, or via email. I would like to hear from you too.

Thanks. Later...

Now I can officially say that I have hiked in the Andes. I just returned from what I would describe as a weekend of images, sensations, and voices that have been etched into my memory. I left the house with 10 other volunteers and our tour guide, named Poncho, at 7 am on Saturday. We drove for two hours, passed the outskirts of our small city (the Ayacucho metropolis sits inside the Ayacucho region, and to differentiate from the entire region, the city is locally called "Huwamanga", pronounced "hoo-wah-mahn-ga") and around many mountainsides. We arrived eventually arrived at a random site that felt arbitrary, at the edge of a lush, green valley bordering with mountains peaking inside the clouds. At this moment, our tour guide asked the bus driver to honk a few times.

In the time it took for each of us to unload ourselves and our packs from the bus, a group of three indigenous men (and one boy) came from what could have been the sky. They rode in on horses, with nearly 12 llamas in toe. Quickly, the men grabbed our packs and placed them inside burlap bags, which were sown with single lines of yarn and placed on the backs of llamas. In the meantime, I layered up with basically all of the long sleeved articles of clothing I brought, hat, two pairs of pants, and double woolen socks to outfit myself for the 20 degree weather. Once both the llamas and the people were prepared for the journey, we set off.

Although we walked along through the plush, green valley en route to the mountains, I already felt the difficulty of each breathe at such a high altitude...my poor Michigander lungs. This hindered my pace a bit, and slowed my steps enough to notice the green, spongey spores of grass growing close enough to form spongey, elevated pads of ground that acted like little trampolines for my feet. We were all dealing with the altitude difference, so I did not hold anyone up, and instead watched the group wander as a pack through this green mass (sprinkled with llama droppings, which the natives use for energy and fire) and uncharted trail. In awe of the site, no one spoke and the only sound that spread across the valley was the cow bells on each llama following behind.

Beggining our climb seemed gradual, but as I listened to my body, the struggle of my lungs only worsened and my heart rate elevated quickly. I was determined to keep up, and my shortness of breath matched the others in my company. Alas, we kept up, with frequent periods of rest. Each time we breaked, I would ignore the vertigo (that seemed to seep into my senses), and allow my head to dismiss all footwork so my eyes could take in the scene. And, I kept saying to myself that this site (the Andes, these formations) could not get more vast, expansive, unique, or breathtaking. However, the higher we went, and further we walked, the more I found myself shocked at my surroundings. I was in the desert, close to snow caps, overlooking lagoons, and walking over lush greenery, all over a span of 1150 feet (bringing me near 6000 feet above sea level). And, I made it to the top. The ascent took 4 hours, but the descent speed by in a little over an hour.

Once we got up and over the moutain, the llamas joined what appeared to be hundreds of their family members in a small village of indigenous villagers. This would be were we would sleep for the evening. The village was a conglomeration of 10 standard 4-door car sized huts, comprised of varried sizes of rocks and a grass roof, supported by pieces of wood. The men and women were bundled in intricately emroidered bright colored fabric, in ponchos, multiple skirts at once, and long sleeved tunics. Under their black, weathered hats, their dark, coarse faces seemed to have endured the harshest of seasons. They shared the inside of the homes with us, allowing us to go inside the huts and find 5 people living inside just one, with a fire burning a stew of corn and grains (their only food, with the acception of llama and alpaca meat). We smiled at them as Poncho spoke, in Qechua. The very interesting piece of our visit in their homes was just as we looked at their dress, and examined their living quaters, they stared at our rain-resistant coats and our clunky hiking boots. Surely, we were just as foreign to them, as vise-versa.

We slept in their one-room school house, and ate a fabulous meal, complete with wine. Sitting still at this altitude, I still found myself gasping every so often. But, I enjoyed the meal and the wine, just enough to have to visit the outhouse a few times (or you know, use nature's bathroom). We laughed and shared stories until the latest we could stay up, which was a drastic 9 pm.

This morning, we awoke to Poncho reminding us that it being Christmas day, we were to get up, and prepare to celebrate. We changed into costumes he brought, which were authetic Peruvian dresses, skirts, and ponchos, so each of us looked just like the indigenous villagers. We gathered the 100 toys that each of us had purchased in the market (10 each) and packed inside the packs, and got cups, a pot of hot chocolate on a fire, and individually wrapped cake together (that Poncho had packed). The most local villagers only numbered 30, but by 9 am, about 200 villagers had assembled, since the word had spread that we would be hosting a Christmas celebration. We served the hot chocolate and cake to their callous hands, and distributed the toys to the wide-eyed children, who had liekly never seen battery operated cars or little tea sets before this Christmas. And, they all got a real kick of our costumes, since we really did look like idiots, and even they could tell. But, we were able to laugh together, and it was apparent that we had made this a special Christmas for these people.

We spent the remainder of the afternoon watching a llama get sheared (which I did not enjoy, nor do I feel the need to describe), and embarking on a two hour long horseback ride. My horse was a funny creature, and seemed to be a fan of the gallop (which my butt and thighs enjoyed less). However, I was able to coerce him (aka, the village men who owned the horses and followed our trail on foot) to stay with the group. It was beautiful to see the countryside and walk along the valley in between the moutains from the point of view of the horse. And, I was thrilled to see that after about a half an hour on horseback, we approached another village where the children outside played with the toys we had given them hours before. The community of indigenous people stretched for many, many miles, and some of the people who lived further must have left their homes at 7 or 7:30 in the morning to all gather with us at 9. I was amazed, and so glad that they joined us.

I returned this evening to our house, took a shower, and joined a few interested people from the program in lighting the menorah. I am glad to have the ammenities that I have grown accustomed to (and of course, glad to be Jewish), but I will not forget the indigenous communities who let me in this weekend and allowed us to bring them a special Christmas. And, the images of the Andes are cast in my memory.

This was a long one. Thanks for reading. I'm going to sleep...time to prepare for work tomorrow.

Next time...