What´s my role again?

Although there is always something going on down here, especially a myriad of school activities lightly peppered with seemingly spontaneous patriotic holidays, the size and pace of our beloved Tacna doesn´t allow for too many dramatic fluctuations in this quaint desert town (however, we did just recently get a set of super high-tech traffic lights in the town´s modest center!). Still, after watching a year in Peru come and pass a few months ago, welcoming the new volunteers and our tearful sendoffs to the outgoing volunteers, the Christmas and New Years holidays were approaching with much anticipation and excitement as new themes and twists to the adventure continue to redefine and shed light on the experience.

A few days before Christmas´ Eve, my sister came down to visit and see just what in the world her older brother had gotten himself into. This was the first time I have seen anybody from home since that fateful day in early November 2008 when I bid farewell to the comfort of familiarity in the States. I was very eagerly excited for her arrival, but had no idea what it would be like to see her after over a year.

According to a formal volunteer in Tacna, Jeff Thielman, is his book Volunteer with the Poor in Peru, “one of the worst things about travel is the incommunicability, and ultimately the alienating effect, of the experience. We can tell our friends that we have been to the other side of the moon, and they can reply, “Yes, yes, isn´t that interesting. That must have been a really incredible trip.” But if they themselves have not been to the moon or to Peru or even Bermuda or New York – have been shaken by what to us was in a way akin to death and rebirth – or if they are not exceptionally sensitive persons who can learn from what someone else has seen and felt, our travels end up isolating us from old companions, even family. They don´t understand we end up saying to ourselves. They just don´t understand.” I too was wary of this, but very happy my sister could see with her own eyes and experience with her own heart some of my experience here.

Through the JVI discernment process, I learned to better communicate the answer to the consistent question, “Why in the world did I want to leave home?”, in a fairly sharp and expressive way. Yet, personally it had been a challenge for me to describe “what I was getting myself into,” as friends and family had so questioned before my departure. I tried my best to share what I thought I would be doing in a way so as to relate the inter-related, multi-faceted JVI approach in a clear-cut and easy to understand explanation. However, inevitably in trying to relate this best to unique audiences, different descriptions were delivered to distinct individuals. To some I shared the ideals of fighting for justice, witnessing faith, building community, and living simply, yet to others I said I would be teaching English as a second language in a Peruvian high school, or even more brief, community service, still briefer to others I said simply: service.

Granted, this is all before I officially stepped foot on Peruvian soil, and wasn´t quite sure about all the details myself. Nonetheless, looking back, I can admit now that at times with college acquaintances or family friends, I was afraid to be vulnerable enough to really open myself up and divulge the heart felt answers to the “whys?” and “whats?” (I´m still not quite tactful enough to answer the “how in the world are you going to do this?” But I´m working on it!) I felt much more comfortable in sharing this with people who I thought understood the importance of a “faith that does justice” or the “preferential option for the poor” and at times I questioned the motives of people who asked, thinking, “Do they really care and want to know or are they just being polite by asking and would prefer to not to hear the dirt?” This frustrated my because in my cowardliness to be vulnerable, I was selling myself, the programs and the experience short – letting a perfect opportunity to share the significance of our greater human call to live with and for the least of our brothers and sisters slip right by. Additionally, instead of preaching to the choir, shouldn’t these involved themes and discussion regarding the “whys,” “whats” and “hows” be directed to those of my friends and family who didn´t “understand” to shed more light on uncomfortable and taboo topics such as the lack of distribution of wealth leading to poverty, sickness, and suffering?

Once I did get a feel for the situations at hand after living and working here for a few months, some of these questions were answered, but I questioned and examined my role as a JV even moreso than before.

Was I just a teacher? No way. I didn´t have the experience nor knowledge to call myself anything close to a full-blown teacher, but I put lots of emphasis on my time outside the classroom with the students, something I noticed that my highly respected colleagues really didn´t do, and even frowned upon.

Was I a mentor or role model figure? I wish, but probably far from it, even though my efforts in this regard were great, their were dramatically outweighed by my inability to motivate and challenge the students due to lack of cultural understanding and language influidities.

Was I a friend? Even though this is what would come most natural, this is not what I am asked to do and especially not when to maintain respect in a class a clear line has to be drawn in the student-teacher relationship.

Was I just some wacky gringo who asks too many questions and “unnecessarilly” challenges the institution? Maybe, I don´t know.

I reasoned that myself, my students, neighbors and friends here are all companions on journeys, by no means the same route, but our paths do line up and often intersect. To me it sounded cute and poetic, but a “wishy-washy” “flowers, sunshine, and rainbows” outlook, especially when I get the zingers from people I encounter in Peru itself like, “What are you doing in my country? And in Tacna of all God-forsaken places?” In spite of this, I believe the Brazilian educator Paulo Freire says it best, “We are all teachers and learners together.”

Still, more than any emotion, I have been filled with such great joy as it had been such a blessing to share this experience with someone from home. Not only did my sister hear me talk about life here and see pictures on-line, but to share with her the experience in real life – the smells of the fresh bread being baked up town mixed with the sandy, saltry air breeze from the sea with a hint of fumes from tire and trash buring nearby, the sights and warm embraces and wild sense of humor of my neighbors, friends, and colleagues – was incredible. It really helped me integrate my life as I knew it before November 2008 with this current Peruvian reality.

While walking home from a splendid visit at a neighborhouse one evening, it dawned on me, after living a year here how important and how integral all these people here have become to me, and even though I still have “un añito” (literally translated as “one little year”) left, how strong their presence will remain in me. But at the same time, after a touch from home rekindled feelings of disconnection with all those there – sentiments that are usually put on the backburner during the demanding and hectic Cristo Rey school year – I feel viciously torn between the desire to stay present here fully over the next year to all that arises and wanting to minimalize this disconnection and being out of touch with all my loved ones back home.

Pictures

As pictures are worth a thousand words as the famous saying goes, here are some images to go along with my long-winded entries.

The Cristo Rey hoops squad after the winning the championship game. No trophies. No dumping Gatorade jugs. Not even a scoreboard, but we took home the title nonetheless.

Floating islands in Lake Titikaka on the shores of Puno.

Crazy clouds in Puno.

Peruvian Sierra-Highlands.

Who says Ignatius was indifferent?

One of the things that I really love about the work at Cristo Rey is the opportunity that the placement offers to have an impact on the students’ lives outside of the classroom in a variety of different environments and diverse situations, including: camping trips, retreats, sport competitions, weekly trips to a nearby orphanage and underprivileged school with the youth group C.R.A.VE., and even the unforgettable Mes de Misión project. Classes had been going more smoothly since the beginning of the year (still I have much room for improvement and at best it is a work in progress!) so I’ve had more time to work on these other endeavors. As much as I do love the complexities, idiosyncrasies, and subtleties of the English language, (we’re working on the Present Perfect Simple with for/since time clauses, ex: I have had a wasp in my jacket since breakfast.) I feel as though I come alive through these other engagements.

About the same time as I was realizing how these other formational activities really heat up my inner flame, a massive cold front swept through the sierra-highlands of Peru like a thief in the night, robbing hundreds of lives in the process (mostly children and senior citizens). Hearing this on the morning news during the fifteen minute bus commute to school shocked me more than anything. It was hard to gage the reactions of my fellow commuters on the way beyond capacity filled mini-bus, hence I wasn’t sure if I was the only one who felt this way, or if this was a annual occurrence that has become numbly commonplace and disregarded such as the 10 o’clock news saturated with brutality back in the States.

However, my doubts were cleared almost as soon as I stepped onto the school campus when one of my less vocal CRAVE students approached me frantically. “Nate! Profe Nate!” he panted, “Did you hear what happened?!” Quizzically, I looked at him, not knowing what he was exactly talking about, quite honestly, I thought he was going to fill me in on the next American music group to make their way down to Peru on a global tour (so far both the Jonas Brothers and Kiss have made appearances to the capital city Lima), but even before I could answer he exclaimed, “We must do something! CRAVE has to help!” Now, I knew we were on the same page and onto something big.

With CRAVE students leading the way, along with tremendous support from the school administration and families, together we conducted a tremendously successful warm clothes drive for children and adults in the areas of Tacna’s sierra-highlands that were most affected by the dangerous drop in temperatures. To be a witness to the students’ excitement as this campaign was taking off the ground was truly awe-inspiring.

While this operation was gaining steam, we used it as a backdrop for another upcoming venture that we began the preliminary planning of back in mid-March – “el viaje de trabajo social” (roughly translated as a service immersion trip). The volunteer I replaced, Dermot Lynch, organized a similar trip last year with rave reviews from students, parents, and teachers alike and to continue this program was both exciting and overwhelming at times. The premise for this 10-day endeavor during “winter” vacations was to take a group of 12 to 14 city-slicker, Cristo Rey students in the final two years of secondary, out to a rural and poverty- stricken area (such as the many areas hit mercilessly by the change in climate) of the country to experience and live another Peruvian reality through accompanying this town’s inhabitants with home-stays, typical daily manual labor out in the fields of these families, tutoring and playing with the town’s local children, and nightly social justice and faith directed reflections.

After weeks of preparation and countless extra hours at school making logistical phone calls and emails, parent meetings, school board presentations, and number crunching, everything started coming together and the project began to take life. We were ready: list of confirmed participants – check, i’s dotted and t’s crossed on the itinerary – check, funds collected – check, contacts in the towns confirmed and up-to-date – check.

Apologies if this account has been as entertaining as watching water boil – I assure you there were many adventures along the way of preparation – but this was right when a monkey wrench went into the system and things got interesting.

Thursday afternoon I was sitting at my desk grading my 4th years’ recent dialog presentations, asking myself why on God’s green earth (or in Tacna, God’s beige sandy earth) are my students so entranced with using white-out liquid correction pens, and listening to the locally popular Cumbia rhythms blaring from the radio in the teacher lounge, when the broadcast was interrupted for an urgent news briefing. Peru’s president, Alan Garcia, was introduced and his voice jumped out through the speakers as if it was a bat out off hell. All within earshot of the radio, (the speaker volume was turned up obnoxiously high so the teachers in the quad over 60 feet away could listen to the Cumbia jams – haha, great work atmosphere I know) so pretty much all of Tacna heard the state mandate that all schools in the country were to be closed immediately for the next two weeks (actually turned out to be three and a half weeks when all was said and done) and all school activities were to be suspended during this time to prevent the spread of your friendly neighborhood AH1N1/“swine” flu. The Minister of Education and another high-ranking government official followed President’s Garcia’s declaration and issued similar statements, but with suspiciously different dates, reasons, and consequences for those who do not comply.

Instantly, my mind was filled with 5,342 questions...

What just happened?
Does this decree include private schools such as Cristo Rey?
What are the “real” dates of the suspension of classes?
Why were different dates given?
Is this really because of the “swine” flu? (Peru has been relatively un-hit, especially in comparisons to nearby Chile and Argentina) Or is it more politically motivated? (The recent political situation in Honduras, combined with local tensions with Peru’s government, the approaching of national holidays, and multiple strikes throughout the country, led many to believe that a similar “coup d'état” was very likely in Peru as well)
Is this really the best thing for the kids?
An astronomical amount more people are dying because of lack of protection from the cold, why doesn’t the government make more of a fuss about these individuals?
What is the phenomenon of white-out correction pens?
Who in the world does Alan Garcia think he is?
What is going to happen with the clothes drive donation trip?
Is the “viaje de trabajo social” going to be cancelled as well?

In short both the clothes drive donation trip and trip during our winter break were cancelled. I still hold onto hope that we can pull the service immersion experience off before the end of the year, but seems improbable.

We decided that there was no way we could wait for the students to return to school just to bring clothes up to the sierra-highlands. Every day the 26 bags, the size of 70 kilogram rice sacks filled with warm clothes, sat around and collected dust in the Pastoral Office, would be another day leaving many out in the cold. Yes, it would have been fantastic for the kids to have come along to put a face and conversation to the dilemma they helped alleviate, but the most pressing issue was getting the garments up to where they could be put in practical use.

Figuring what to do with the service immersion trip being grounded was much more complicated. After hyping up this experience to my students and feeding off their passion, how was I going to break it to them that this experience – an experience, according to their friends who participated in it the year before, that changed the way they see their Peru and dramatically affected the rest of their time at school – was not even going to happen? Almost without fail, everyday at school and at CRAVE meetings my students asked me with toothy grins and excited eyes (even by some of the same kids who fought Mes de Misión to the near bitter end before accepting it and letting it transform them) how the trip planning was coming along. Without a doubt, I thought, this would be one of the most emotionally draining things I have had to do in my time here.

Yet, when I broke the news to them, to my surprise, the majority did not seem phased by the trip’s cancellation. This completely baffled me! I wasn’t expecting tears or anything, but I’d say long and disappointed faces would have been a fair expectation. “How could this be?,” I asked myself over and over. I even talked with and confided in a few students whom I have developed closer relationships with as to why they did not seem as disappointed as I had imagined. According to CRAVE’s vice-president, Rodrigo, “This is Peru, not the U.S.,” he said, “Things like this happens all the time – we’re used to it. Another student, Carlos chimed in, “I usually don’t get my hopes up any more because I am afraid to be let down. It’s always like this, there’s nothing we can do.” I was left momentarily speechless, but then I fired back with the downheartedness of “not having hope out of fear.” I am near certain that this is not what they meant, and I probably read into and twisted their words around more than necessarily, but as dramatic as I know I was being, my goal was to get a rise out of Rodrigo and Carlos and spark the “Yes, I understand the situation, but it doesn’t have to be like this!” type talk. Still, I truly felt ripped apart.

My disappointment, maybe even anger, was very strong and weighed my down hard like the chains of the Ghost of Christmas Past as he went to bother old Ebeneezer. I looked deep into myself to see what the source of this emotion was, and through many graces was able to uncover some interesting things hidden inside. It was hard to not see the fruit of my late nights at school that kept me away from my community (that misses me so much!) come into fruition, but more so I was disappointed because even if the students couldn’t yet comprehend how radical this experience could have been in their lives, I felt so entitled that I could look into their crystal ball and see their future, and thus was letting them down and depriving them of becoming their full and best selves. Who knows what could have happened? The proverbial door (that I try to open for my students and hopefully watch them walk through on their own accord) was slammed in my face and locked with a key that was instantly thrust aside.

I expressed this guilt and frustration with the Jesuit, Juan Bytton S.J., in charge of youth ministries in southern Peru. “Surely he will understand where I am coming from,” I thought. Strike two – wrong again. To complicate things, he gave me what appeared to be an Ignatian riddle and I was not in the mood. Politely, I nodded my head, made understanding gestures to show mild comprehension despite the language barrier and then went home.

During a few long bus rides while traveling through Peru’s lush country side thanks to our unexpected and abrupt government mandated vacation, I had a lot more time to think about the situation with much more clarity. What Juan tried to share with me was the idea of “Ignatian Indifference”, much different from the deadly disease of indifference as Señor Webster defines it as “marked by a lack of interest, enthusiasm, or concern for something; having no importance or value one way or the other.” According to St. Ignatius in the “Principles and Foundation” section of the Spiritual Exercises, “Human beings are created to praise, reverence and serve God our Lord, and by these means to save their souls.” Further explained by James Martin, S.J., in his book My Life with the Saints, “We should make use of things on earth that enable us to do this, and free ourselves of anything that prevents us from doing so…We should not be so attached to any thing or person or state of life that prevents us from loving God.” Very interesting and even confusing ideas.

In this sense and Ignatius’ time-tested world view, I was clinging so tightly to a successful trip that the fear of failure prevented me from following God. My attachment to this trip, despite it being directed to and for the best interests of the participants, may have separated me from seeing the big picture and God’s work each day within the preparation phase of the trip, my life, and even my students’ lives – something that Rodrigo and Carlos may have been on to.

A “trip” is not needed for these kids to encounter a Peru they never knew existed. I like to think it would have been an incredible experience for all involved, but there are many more powerful forces involved that I am trying to come to a better understanding of through this life and work that I am a mere witness to.

"Work as if everything depends of God, and pray as if everything depends on you."

I remember when I was growing up my Dad would ask me, “Do you want to do this the easy way or the hard way?” Most of the time he was referring to either my objecting and fretting over something in which I had little control of versus simply accepting the situation or chore and not letting it affect my daily life. Although it shows great wisdom and maturity to follow the former (Yes it is much easier to shovel the snow off the sidewalk and car than to begin to comprehend why in the world there is three feet of snow and it is 24 degrees in the middle of March or sometimes even early April!), I truly enjoy a good challenge. When discerning my post-college plans, I found the challenge to live and work as a JV very intriguing and along with many other things, it helped fuel my excitement. It was something new, out of my comfort zone that would present many personal and communal struggles, all of which would challenge me to be the best person that I can be – not the best in the world, but the best I can be for the world.

Boy did this ever come true.

For the overwhelming majority of my life, when presented with an obstacle, I thought it best to not acknowledge the difficulty of the challenge and to simply take care of business - a "git 'er done!" type of an approach. I would not think twice and chose to run through these proverbial walls without hesitation (and with a smile), thinking that they were simply hinderances in the way of my goals. Although, this had served me greatly through college, I realized that I would need to take a much different approach in my current state of affairs. I was afraid that if I simple rail through the barriers, I would impede myself from experiencing the true reality. Also, that if I blindly hurdle the stumbling blocks, I would fail to see a better way through the complexities. Hence, this has led me to my current perspective of truely trying to acknowledge my feelings and the situations here for what they inherently are - the good and the bad, the easy and the difficult.

First of all, teaching is definitely not easy. I wasn't in any way expecting it to be a walk in a park filled with hummingbirds and daisies, nor did it trigger images of searching for the lost city of Atlantis in the deep dark ocean depths, however, I have had flashes of both at times. There is undoubtedly a steep learning curve that I am scaling just a bit each day (with little slips each day along the way up) and the miniscule experience that I have acquired thus far has been extremely valuable, but that has only made the tasks modestly easier. Nonetheless, lesson planning has come with more fluidity even though I am consistently baffled by the many odd rules of the English language. Preparation and lecturing for my exceptionally advanced classes as well as the particularly basic classes each present me with mazes of grammatical flurry. For instance, as I was brainstorming examples for the Third Conditional Tense (imaginary situations in the past or future using “if causes”) I couldn´t help but think I was walking around in circles with two left feet. Consistently these moments allow me to give thanks for the luck of being blessed as a native English speaker with the fluency of this tricky language. However, sooner than I would like, I am snapped back into the classroom realities of students dancing, daydreaming, wrestling or throwing wads of paper in class. Still teaching has been rewarding thus far, because not only do I have the opportunity to teach English, but more so, my placement allows me to have a large role in the formation experience of the students. Although it is challenging, I look forward to presenting new ways of thinking and helping my students see outside the box, whether directly in a retreat format or one of the weekly hour-long blocks we have specifically geared towards their development or through more indirect ways such as grammar tenses or dialogs.

Finding a way to relate to the youth group, C.R.A.V.E. (Cristo Rey Ayudando con Voluntad y Experiencia – translates as Cristo Rey [students] helping with will and experience), that I work very closely with, is an essential element of my preparation and interaction with them so I can better get across abstract ideas and concepts across in a way that it would make sense and be meaningful to them. There are moments when I have had a hard enough time relating to my own teenage brother, yet alone Peruvian adolescents (However, strangely enough these kids, although they are hemispheres apart from each other, at times they are freakishly similar in their mannerisms, ways of interacting, and hobbies/past-times.) Slowly but surely the relationships are growing deeper and I am communicating the ideas I am trying to express more tactfully since the few weeks after having learned to better relate to the students – but it is still not like cutting butter with a warm knife.

When deciding to commit myself to a few years in a foreign land, I realized that community would be one of the aspects that would make my experience most fruitful and challenging. Hence, community was a determining factor in my participation with JVI. Prior to coming here, my expectation of community was simply the other American JVs who I would call my community-mates. Little did I know how many communities I would be welcomed into with open minds, hearts, and arms. These communities include my site placement at Colegio Cristo Rey, my Peruvian host-family, the greater Habitat/Ciudad de Dios neighborhood community, along with each of the sub-communities and friendships that I have formed within each one of these larger groups. Although each of these communities (in no small part) help me fuller encounter and live out this experience which I have embarked on about six months ago, they each require much time energy to nurture and develop to their fullest potential. I feel as though I am torn between my various responsibilities and communities that overlap to a degree as part of the overall commitment, but each require a different part of myself – scratch that – not just a part of myself, but my whole self. Especially in regards to our intentional JV community, where as special and beautiful as it is, it is nonetheless draining at times. Yet the tank of energy begins to run low at the end of a long school day, and sometimes I found myself simply running on fumes as I began my commute from one community to the next.

Inspirational quotes regarding overcoming challenges and “fighting the good fight” by the likes of Vince Lombardi and even Obi-Won Kenobi (“Never give up, trusts your instincts!”) are frequently a dime a dozen. They are used so frequently and tactlessly at times that their luster is as dull as my razor has become since November, leaving them as nothing more than corny aprophetic clichés. However, I discovered a curiously thought-provoking adaption to such a previously mentioned aphorism.

In the fifth century St. Augustine wrote the following, “Work as if everything depends on you and pray as if everything depends on God.” Sounds like a typical message from the saints: direct, clear, yet all too conspicuously religious. However, St. Ignatius throws a monkey wrench into St. Augustine’s well calibrated machine when he switches it around, saying, “Work as if everything depends on God, and pray as if everything depends on you.”

This really struck a cord in me. Up to that point I was probably following the Augustinian perspective and never in my wildest dreams would St. Ignatius’ angle on this concept have crossed my mind, but the radicalism of this proposition has really drawn me to it. As radical as it may sound, (how can one really pray as if EVERYTHING depends on him or her?) I believe it shines great light on my understanding of what I am really going through here at this juncture of my life. And although this is not the easiest thing to do (Yes, another challenge!) it has helped me greatly and given me much peace and tranquility.

Mes de Misión

Mes de Misión literally translates into English as "Month of Mission" or "Mission Month" and is a hands-down obligatory four-week requirement during the summer vacation of the Cristo Rey students moving from their third to fourth years of Secundaria (the Peruvian school system is broken down to six years of Primaria and five years of Secundaria) which involves intense physical labor from sun-up to sun-down. Beginning in 1973, there is a long standing tradition of Mes de Misión at Cristo Rey and many stories are passed down from each year, but each and every experience is quite unique in its own right. Still, the goals that Mes de Misión seeks to realize in the students through this experience - an experience for them that is very new and different from what their privileged lives among Tacna's elite dictates – remain unchanged and include further instilling the Ignatian Identity of "men with and for others," continuing the full development of each of the 53 students, promoting the union of the class as a whole, and opening the eyes, hearts, minds and souls of these future leaders of the area to the all-too-common reality that lies just beyond the gates of their sheltered lives. Generally, the setting for Mes de Misión is a small rural town seemingly stagnant due to corrupt leadership on different levels and unjust legislature leading to the local farmers slipping into deeper levels of poverty. Although past volunteers had warned me numerous times of the many difficulties of Mes de Misión and offered plenty of suggestions as how to keep my head above water throughout the experience, I knew that none of these would prepare me for the experience at hand. Nonetheless, I was eager (while at the same time filled with an anxious nervousness) to begin this challenge. Little did I know it would be one of the greatest challenges of my life.

Before Mes de Misión, everything was going incredibly smooth, so fluid, in fact, I should have anticipated that I was due for a jolt. Anyway, in the weeks before I finished up the stay with my Peruvian host-family, in which, similarly as my host-dad Lucho described the time he was alone in Argentina until he met his future wife and her family, "Sentí el calor de familia - I felt the warmth of family." Such an amazing experience this was and I was spoiled rotten with incredible food, shared inspirational stories of life and love, and above all was welcomed into the lives of so many great people unconditionally and with wide open arms. Christmas and New Year's were both spent far away from family and friends I have known all my life, but it wasn't nearly as hard as I imagined as the communities I have found myself welcomed into continued to give me that great sense of home, even though being thousands of miles away from the house where Santa slid down the chimney every Christmas Eve Night since 1986. I was feeling a great peace, much more settled and getting a better sense of the life here and feeling how my life - a life that really didn't seem just my own anymore, was developing anew.
Then January 4th came, the first day of Mes de Misión and everything turned into an unnecessary battle.


My role as "un asesor" or supervisor/group leader for a group of seven unmotivated, undisciplined 14 and 15 year-olds (who don't want to be there in the first place) was nothing less than a 24/7 gig. Throughout work, cleaning, meals, reflections, and breaks, I was to not let them out of my sight, according to the coordinator. There was no escape whatsoever, and it became old very quickly. As alluded to earlier, although the physical and actual labor being done is important, this program is more so designed as a formative experience for the students. However, the battleships align when the group is in constant need of motivation and encouragement to either initiate or complete a basic level task and many a time simply refuse to perform such act even after words that would compel General Patton to shake in his boots. The kids were always armed with a myriad of excuses as to why they could not complete such a task, including but definitely not limited to: This isn't fair. I don't have boots. Why is the other group not working? My tooth hurts. (sidenote: These kids were getting shots and pills up the wazoo for damn near everything and anything. One student was feeling the effects of a sore throat and went to the local nurse, coming back after having received two shots and a mountain of pills - for a sore throat! The health conscious side of me worried about the long term effects on the "patient" [more than half of these kids probably were just looking to get a day off from work] due to the unnecessary medicine and popping pills like popcorn. However, more often than not, I could care less what the nurse was giving them. It could have been anything along the spectrum from placebos and Flintstones Vitamins to Viagra, as long as they quit their complaining, were obedient and completed their work.) There are spiders over there. Why us? And what drove me the fastest up the figurative coconut tree, "I don't want to." I have no problem with venting or communication of troubles, but this constant complaining and self-pity made me sick, especially when compared to the reality of the people living in this town. As hard as I tried to be patient, (sometimes I failed miserably, yet other times I even surprised myself with my level of patience) this endless inescapable tunnel of relentless complaints, excuses, and whines ziz-zagging through the dark cave comprised of their lack of effort and horrendous attitude drove my soul deeper into misery than the physical depths I found myself in when stumbling into a patch of quicksand one day during this month.


Everything seemed to be a constant fight with the kids, not only with their work effort (or lack there of really) out in the fields, but literally with EVERYTHING! From dusk till dawn, dragging them out of bed in the morning, forcing them to eat all the food on their plate, telling them not to fight with machetes as if they are Peter Pan and Captain Hook, encouraging them to say something meaningful during reflection, to quieting them down at night and not shinning flashlights in their bunkmate's eyes. Similar to the Dos Equis man, "I'm a lover, not a fighter, but I'm also a fighter, so don't get any ideas." Further draining was the repetitious question about everything under God's green earth: Why do we have to do this? Who says so? Huh? When do we get to rest? Why can't we drink soda-pop? Why why why...? Still, the downward spiral of fatigue and exhaustion with the kids continued as I was having to uphold some of these supposed "inscribed in cold stone Mes de Misión rules" that were not to be broken, even when I personally didn't think that they made much sense, and to see another supervisor blatantly disregard such a rule as if it were a speck of sand on a beach boardwalk, then having my group ask why the other group doesn't have to follow the rule, thus prompting me to defend said rule, the same one I did not even agree with in the first place - all in Spanish! Very frustrating.


I did push my group and always had high expectations for them, forgetting at times that they are only 14 and 15 year-olds, but this was all with their development in mind and with hopes of pushing them beyond what they thought they were capable of so as to get all they could from the experience. However, my lofty altruisms were not seen for what they were intended to be, and I quickly became known as "el gringo explotador" or the exploiting white man. Yes, I came all this way just to exploit your adolescent labor.


Not only were my spirits dragged through the murky mud everyday, but physically my body was taking a beating. The labor was not easy, and due to my position as group leader I tried to push myself even harder than normal to provide my group with a solid, enduring example (not quite sure if this worked still). Obviously, it is inherent to hydrate adequately and to replace the calories burned after activity. However, neither was accomplished. The closest thing to water available was a beverage saturated to the highest degree with sugar; it was even sweeter than melted Jolly Ranchers sprinkled with Pixie Stix - definitely not a substitute for a tall glass of simple H2O. When the students' parents got word of this, they tried to send bottled water up to us, but the main coordinator became irate with their idea saying, "Why are they sending us water? We are in the area with the most water in all of Tacna." Yes, the town we were in, Curibaya, (a very small town roughly six hours north of where we all live at about 3000 meters situated at the base of very tall mountains that separate the town from the Laguna Aricota which provides the surrounding areas, farms, and pastures with ample water that flows through the multiple canals that we dug out and cleaned) had a lot of water, but as the rhyme goes, "Water, water everywhere, but not a drop to drink." Due to this constant dehydration, each morning I awoke with a splitting headache and fatigued body, a feeling that can best be described as a vicious hang-over after a night on the town partying with an 80's hair-metal rock band. I was so dehydrated that my urination was severely minimal, but when something did come out it was a dark orange shade. Additionally, although Peruvian food is extremely delicious and I had yet to be irritated in the least bit by it, there was something about the food here that turned my stomach upside-down and all around. Almost whatever I did put in, did not stay there for too long and quickly rushed out like a waterfall one way or another. As well, throughout the month I had managed to be the recipient of as many scratches, scabs, bumps, bruises and bug-bites as a 9 year-old trying to learn to ride a two-wheeler at night in the woods under the supervision of intoxicated uncles as supervisors. Whether it was tumbling down a dusty and rocky unforgiving hill or a slick and slippery algae covered canal with water flowing throughout, I lost my footing at an alarming rate. All in all, I ended up dropping a whopping 8 kgs, roughly 17.6 lbs for those not on the metric system.

I must admit that I do have a tendency to exaggerate at times, but none of this has been at all far from the truth and given the fact of all the dreadful experiences described beforehand, it would be shocking to hear that anything positive came out of the experience, but that is exactly the case. It wasn't all completely terrible and there were some streaks of light illuminating the darkness such as incredible moments I shared with the kids, the other supervisors, and the people in the town. For example, although it felt as if I was pulling teeth like the dentist from Finding Nemo with the big group, some of the one-on-one interactions with the students were absolutely astonishing - giving the feeling that at that moment, despite everything going on and no matter how much I was struggling, I was at peace and felt as though that right there in that moment I was where I was meant to be. These conversations ranged from everything under the sun, including family/domestic hardships/struggles, drug use, personal life goals, why I came to Peru, and relationships with The Higher Power. Unreal, and as much as these kids felt like cactus needles in my eyes at times, I am truly grateful for some of these moments when they let their guard down and let me into their lives. This is what my lasting memories from Mes de Misión will be.

For the first few weeks, the kids were anxiously awaited cards from their parents. However, because one of the rules of Mes de Misión is that everyone eats the same exact food for every meal no matter what, no outside treats could be brought because they would take away from the experience. Because of this, we had to go through every package and envelope to make sure the parents didn't hide any contraband candy in a pair of construction gloves or a bottle of Coke in work boots. I felt as though I was a mix between an airport TSA agent and jail warden as we diligently went through each and every sent item and uncovered hidden goodies. After the paraphernalia inspection, we headed to the chapel to distribute the letters from family members. It was breath-taking as we walked into the dark chapel solely lit by dim candles. Watching and being a part of the experience where the kids read their letters was very special. Seeing and feeling how this "machismo," constantly bickering, far from the men they think they are kids were broken down by love to the core of what they really are was unbelievably touching. Hearing the echoes of sobs of feeling inside the dimly lit, dusty chapel brought me back to my adolescent Kairos experience, which helped me center myself so I could peer more inside these mere adolescents - just fresh into their tumultuous teenage years - who I will be accompanying these next few years. It is easy to forget that they are just kids, especially when I look at their faces and realize that the overwhelming majority of them physically look older than me at 22 years. Yes, I have expressed my frustrations with these kids who complain about the slightest inconvenience that interrupts the world revolving around them, but they are still kids learning much about themselves and have a long way to go, even if they put up the front that they know everything already.

Eventually, and although I never thought the end of the month would ever arrive, the last days finally came. The last night was a blast, filled with songs, skits, and over-the-top impersonations of their supervisors by the kids (my group impersonated me to a tee, down to the detail of coloring my impersonator's cheeks, chin, and upper lip area red to look like it was my beard), equally ridiculous impersonations of the kids by the supervisors (how fun it was to latch on to the tendencies of the kids that drove me nuts all month in a friendly, "laugh at yourself" revenge skit) and finally, "el gran compartir" (great sharing) of all the confiscated sweets, candy, and cookies. My blood sugar had been so low and for so long that after stuffing a few wafer cookies and slivers of cake down my throat that night, I received a sugar rush like I have never experienced in all my life - how delightful, light headed and giddy I felt! The following day, seeing the kids march down the hill singing "Alma Misionera" to reunite with their parents brought tears to my eyes as I saw and experienced their sweet embrace. After a six-hour bus ride back to Tacna, I returned to our humble candle-lit abode in Habitat with my heat over pouring with gratitude to have survived Med de Misión - giving it all I had - but more so to be home and to have such a clear sense home in Tacna, thanks to the grace of Mes de Misión.

Although before Mes de Misión I spent a few months at the end of the school year with these kids, and I thought that I had a good understanding of them in the classroom at least, this experience without a doubt exposed me to what these kids really are. Granted, this was not an easy experience for them either (it was the first time that the grand majority spent a night away from their families - yet alone a month!) and were all obviously scared and uncomfortable in such a new situation. Through this experience, as trying as it was, I am very thankful to have been a part of it and learned much about myself and now have a much better grasp of who these kids really are and knowing this, my close relationship with them the next few years has been dramatically enhanced. Due to this valuable experience and knowledge, I can try more to better comprehend their strengths and weaknesses, so as to hopefully better direct their energies and challenge their minds, hearts, and souls, which I am certain they will continue to do to me as well, as we grow together.

Definitely not in Kansas anymore...

Every Monday here in Tacna is "Lunes Civico" where all the students and their teachers gather in line formation in one of the big gathering places of the school. The day began with a few brief announcements followed by a simple, yet introspective prayer in which I was able to reflect on the first 24 hours in this new land, when suddenly what seemed out of no-where the Cristo Rey band began belting boisterous notes from their brass instuments. As I looked up I could see another group of two rows of three students marching in military fashion - moving their arms and legs contralaterally in stiff, sharp, and deliberate motions - carrying the Peruvian flag towards the center of the gathering place as another Peruvian flag was beging raised in the distance. They pivoted to face the flag being raised and the student coucil president shouted orders to the general assembly, "Firme...Descanso...Atención" - "Tighten up...At ease...Attention."

While the students began their pivot I could not help but think of how this dramatic shift of direction with only a few pivot steps reminded me of the pivoting shift that was ocurring in my mind and my direction of thought - a somewhat visual cue of an internal and on-going conversion experience. As all this was happening - the pivoting motion of the marching, the signing of the national anthem, the piercing Peruvian sun penetrating my core, and all the other events since my crack of dawn arrival to Tacna - something inside of me swiftly and suddenly hit me and said, ¨Welcome to the next two years of your life."

Was this the "culture shock" that was talked about in great detail at orientation? That inevitable feeling that I was hoping to avoid, but at the same time looking for so as to be more prepared by seeing it in the distance and therefore be more prepared for it? The phenomenon that can not be described with a forty-page handout, pie charts, line and bar graphs, or even the expressive circle emotion faces, but can only be felt?

No.

Well, probably not quite at least. However, this event along with many other events of these first few days - big chicken foot ending up in my stew at lunch, having no idea whatsoever where I am/ what is being said to me at times (haha, especially once during a run when the sun decided to set into perfect darkness earlier than I would have liked), watching huge parades complete with orchestras, traditional dancers, music pumped from a loud-speaker on top of a car like the Blues Brothers car, people dressed as animals, go up and down the street causing massive traffic jamsan elderly woman with the most wrinkles I have ever seen on one face who approached me slowly, sliently and without my awareness in the area between bright sun and the sharp cunning blade of shade and reached her hand out to ask for money as I was startled for not knowing she had come so close without my knowedge, and countless others - are all what I have begun to call my "Dorothy moments," each one revealing so much to me about myself, the world, and my place in the world that I am still trying to grasp. True moments of Grace. Simple as that.

Additionally, it has been very interesting because after each of these "Dorothy Moments" almost always there is something that follows which immediately compels me to feel as though I am at home here, completely and fully. For example, one time as I was walking through town and one of the aforementioned parades was processing through the main street, I began to think how much I must stand-out. Just imagine a blonde-haired, light-eyed, sunburnt, gringo wearing strange clothes observing a normal occurence of life in complete fascination and bewilderment. Yet, as this stark difference was setting in on me, I began a conversation with at the time a complete stranger. I´m having trouble remembering the exact words, but it wasn´t anything dramatic, however it seemed to put everything together, even if only for a moment. I left the parade and the conversation that day still with all my American physical characteristics or baggage as some may call it, but believe my perspective was stretched, as it has been many times since my arrival and for which I am continually grateful for.

This "Culture Shock" will eventually and unexpectedly come when I least expect it, and most likely when I am least prepared for it. Until then, I will try to let down my guard so as to not block off all these beautiful heaven-sent unexepected moments of Grace.

Departure Date

I will be headed out on November 8th, 2008! More to come soon!
Nate.