ent 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 th
e 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.
