Marci Soifer

So, this is it. As of 7 AM tomorrow morning, I will be in route to Lima; me and my backpack...we are moving. I will miss watching the cloudy fog rise above the Andes in the morning and entering the prison daily to hear the kids shout, ¨HOLA!¨ from their cells. I have no idea what is in store for me once I leave here, but I am glad to take along my Ayacucho experience (and glad to miss the hoards of children on the streets here prematurely preparing for the Karnaval in February, in which they throw water balloons at any passerby). Furthermore, I had a perfect ending.

On Thursday, I went inside with a new volunteer who will be replacing me. We entered into the women´s yard, only to nearly trip over a group of Willy´s toys spread out on a blanket and to notice a series of stuffed animals hanging on the clothing line, where wet sweaters and mantas normally dry. We asked Mauricia, Willy´s mother what was going on, and she told us that in the night, rats had gotten into Willy´s toys. She showed us where the rats had chewed his few stuffed animals into pieces, and where they had left droppings on his toys. She had already cleaned everything the best she could (you know, without running water) by the time we arrived at 9 AM. This did not seem to phase Willy at all, considering he spent the day romping around with me, as he does on most days. There was a moment when, out of my direct sight, he dumped a bucket of the stored water on his own head. Soaked, he screamed and cried. However, after I held him for a while and we read a little ¨One Fish Two Fish Red Fish Blue Fish¨(which he absolutely did not understand at all, but liked the pictures and sounds), he calmed down. Only when I left that day did he take to his routine for the last few days, of screaming hysterically when I say goodbye. These tears actually made me want to move into the prison with him, but I abstained (don´t worry). Nick decided to give me a humungous hug following his consumption of a creamy soup, or should I say, his application of a cream soup to his entire face. I hugged him back, let go, let him run on to some other action that terrorists embark upon, and turned to his mother, Anna. I pointed to my chest, where Nick´s face had left a humungous print, and said in Spanish, ¨Only one more day to get these presents from Nick¨. We exchanged a sad look.

I returned to prison with the group on Friday, for the special day out. I happily walked with Marisol from cell to cell, gathering the kids. We grabbed Karina in her little denim skirt, Jorge Luis in his new, clean shirt, and of course, Willy in his Sponge Bob Square Pants embroidered collared shirt. I was entrusted with the infamous Willy rocketship lunchbox, holding juice boxes, which he actually comsumed this time. And, out we went. We went to a nearby park again, but this time, with slides and playground equipment. Nick obviously fell off the metal slide that was too big for him, due to his impatience heading down without an adult volunteer. And, I obviously was there to catch him when he fell, trying my best to dry his tears and welcome back his wide, open mouth smile. I introduced the kids to sidewalk chalk I found in the market, and learned that little kids think that colored chalk could be food. Why not? So, that idea quickly saw it´s end.

When we drove the kids back, every, single child, of the eight we took out, fell asleep in a volunteers´ arms. I held Nick, praying that he would not let a bodily function loose, and missing the echo of Spanish animal vocabulary the children usually spout in response the animals passed on the road. Upon our quiet arrival back the prison, with a sleeping Nick in my arms, I entered the prison for the final time. I smiled at the guards standing at the door, headed up and over the steps between the entry and the facility, greeted the 2 incarcerated males who daily stand at the gate to the men´s side and open the door (as if it is their post), and headed down the corridor beside the male yard, challenging myself to memorize everything in sight. I rounded the corner at the children´s section (Cuna), and recognized Anna standing on the other side of the bars, awaiting Nick´s return. Rustling, he woke up when I handed him over to his mother. Anna asked me when I was returning, and I told her I did not know. She told me that she will miss me, and I smiled, stating the Spanish phrase I had practiced for this very moment, ¨I will miss you¨.

As a group, we continued through the corridor, en route to returning the other children. Since they were mostly all deep in slumber, I didn´t have much of a chance to say goodby to them, which is probably better. They were transferred from the arms of a volunteer, to their mother´s arms, and without much pause, likely their mother´s thin cell beds (which is where the children sleep as well). I spent a few moments walking through the yard, giving a goodbye here and there to the women who have ingrained themselves in my memory. I saw Denise, who repeats her favorite English phrase almost daily, ¨oh my G-d¨. I had a moment with Carmen, when she told me that she liked to see me every day and will miss me. I hugged Victoria and Mercedes, asking them to feel good and wishing them luck, considering I remember when they came into prison on drug charges; it was also my first day inside. And now, I am moving on. Where ever I am in fifteen years, I hope that I will remember Victoria and Mercedes, considering that is about the time when they will be released. I gave out a few more hugs, and started to head for the exit. I turned the corner through the barred door of the women´s yard, and I was shocked to discover a small lump in my throat. I took a few deep breathes...I would not so much as tear. It was unfortunate to leave this community, but I feel great about my time there. I learned children´s songs in Spanish, implemented a reading program for so many minutes daily with the kids, brought in a few educational projects (including Noah´s Ark in Spanish, thanks Aunt Penny), helped with the women´s English classes, and actually engaged Spanish conversations with the women. And, I hope that the replacement volunteer will continue all of the work.

Last night, the volunteers went out to dinner, as a small goodbye for me. Just as we entered the selected restaurant, we heard a voice myself and the other volunteer who regularly has gone inside with me both recognized. It was our favorite guard, the man who tried to practice his English with us (which is really only ¨Hello¨ and ¨See you tomorrow¨) and who gave me a few of the prison stamps (that go on our arms) on a piece of paper for me to keep, with his signature of course. This man´s last name is Lindo, which means pretty, and always gave us a laugh. But, he is a kind man and laughs with us, which most guards did not. He walked with his wife and son, who he introduced us to. We spoke for a few minutes, and he wished me luck in the future. As I let go of his hand, and joined another volunteer in the walk toward the restaurant, the volunteer said to me, ¨You know what the true sign that you live somewhere is?¨ And I asked, ¨what?¨ He replied, ¨You bump into people you know¨. He is right.

For my final day, I went on a long hike up to a Cross on one of the mountains surrounding Ayacucho, to get a view of the city. It was beautiful, and worth the trek up. From there, I could see the street I have lived on, the central plaza I walk through daily, the Quinoa monument in the distance that I visited in my first week, and of course, far away from the city, the prison. On the climb down, I looked through the digital photos I took from above, and thought, ¨okay, now I have got all of it¨.