Sunday, July 18, 2010

The sierra may as well be another country.

This is what I believe after three days in Pucará, a little town near Huancayo. I had been to Cusco, but Cusco is Disney's version of the sierra. This is the real deal. I won't steal the thunder in describing the majesty of the place because I know Katie won't be back in Cieneguilla until tomorrow and doesn't have the chance to write yet. So I'll tell my part...

This little story will be one of two things for you: 1) a string of incredible coincidences or 2) God. Big, fat in your face signs from above.

I'm not sure how to tell it all adequately, but I'll try not to cut out too many details. It begins on Saturday, where I decided to go with Katie on a walk to take advantage of her last day in Huancayo. (I'm here until Tuesday morning for a meeting.) We had just got out the door and up the hill when we ran into a nun guiding a Jeep across a makeshift bridge over the ditch. "Gringos in Pucará?" she said with enough enthusiasm that I wanted to stop and actually talk to her. In order to get to today, I'll skip over all the rest and say that as it turns out, she's a Slovenian nun working in the town, who has been here for a year now. This means that she has the foreigner's analytical eyes but the insider knowledge to help evaluate our project plan. We said goodbye that day and exchanged emails and I didn't expect to see her again, until maybe next year when I'm back in Peru. As we walked out, a brief shower had just ended and a gorgeously intense rainbow was forming. Then a double rainbow. And then triple.

Sign?

This morning the rest of the group left, to get back for classes and work. My plan was to hang around the plaza and interview as many people as possible about the education system in Pucará and Pachachaca, our target community. Again, just as I was leaving, I saw Andreja the nun. I went over to say hello and she invited me to Mass at 10. It was 9:30 and I hadn't had breakfast yet, so it looked perfect. Besides, I wasn't too sure how this randomly approaching strangers plan was going to work out.

Mass was lovely, since I knew several of the songs from my Villa Martha days. Andreja introduced me as it was starting and everyone was impressed and curious at once. After Mass, Andreja introduced me to the president of Pucará as well as a community leader from Pachachaca, both of whom were excited to talk. Juan from Pachachaca was heading out to see his brother, so we decided to meet in the afternoon. Inés from Pucará is taking me to see the other school tomorrow morning. It's funny because I recently had a conversation about how the church used to be the center of connecting with a community as a newcomer, but that the tradition is slowly fading as churchgoers decrease in number. Looks like it still works.

Juan showed up (miracle! Only 25 minutes late) and we chatted for a few minutes before his nephews appeared. They were heading up to Pachachaca, and I saw him go talk with them and then separate, so I quickly volunteered that we should go up together. "Walking?" he asked rather incredulously. "Of course!" I replied. I had done the walk down yesterday and I knew that it was almost an hour. Going up wasn't thrilling but the prospect of talking to all of them was.

The route from Pucará to Pachachaca is about 5 miles. That does not mean five minutes. There is a car that goes that way occasionally--as they please, sometimes every few hours or so--making the only practical way between the two a long walk at 10,000 ft above sea level. Fortunately, this gave us a sure hour of conversation, and as it turned out both Juan and especially his nephews are insightful and analytical. I desperately wish I could get to know his one nephew better. Strangely I never got his name. Names aren't always exchanged immediately here. Anyway, they offered several good critiques as well as solutions to our internet woes and plans to generate the money to pay for the connection.

Not only that, when we arrived in Pachachaca Juan showed me over to the gentleman's house who has the only internet antena in the pueblo. People had told us about internet existing, but that it either doesn't work, isn't open, or has been disbanded. Jorge the internet man explained it a bit more clearly: through some work network of his, a company installed the antenna and 2 computers but nothing more. About two months ago, something went wrong with the antenna and it hasn't been fixed yet.

Now Jorge the internet man is a farmer like all the others, so he spends most of his time there. This leads to a very "flexible" schedule. Besides, he tells that in an entire month, he sees about 30 people. Compare that to our project at La Libertad, where we see about 50 weekly. Why is this? This is exactly the problem with installing a computer lab and not providing computer training. No one above the age of 16 knows what the internet really is or why it's useful for anyone out of school. Jorge told me he doesn't have the skills to teach, and based on the fact that he runs the internet and has no email address, I believe him. He gave excellent insight into the community mentality, and the enormous problem of introducing a new technology that could revolutionize their farms, health, and futures--except that no one knows that.

Coming down from Pachachaca, I ran into a guy who recognized me but whom I couldn't immediately place. I guessed I had met him as part of the governor's group on the first day. He asked where I was headed and since I had no exact reply, he invited me to his house for dinner. I eventually figured out how I knew him--I had a glass of orange juice at his mom's stand this morning at breakfast. I was talking a bit and mentioned the project then, and of course I'm the only gringo around right now so he recognized me. But to invite someone to your house, prepare them dinner, show the family, and spend two hours talking would normally require a bit more than a five-minute business exchange. They aren't kidding when they talk about hospitality in the sierra.

So that's that. I can't remember at this moment whether or not I left my backpack at his house or in the place we're staying. Strangely I'm not too worried, because I can't imagine it disappearing and I know both where he lives and where his parents' store is. I don't doubt that if I did leave it there, they'll have it for me tomorrow morning when I get breakfast.

Lovely.

Matt

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