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| Camila's First Communion (and mine) |
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| Just couldn't get her to smile |
Attending a First Communion mass was done out of obligation.
I just couldn’t say no to that precious, pleading little face. So, I went.
Usually, Peruvians show up tardy to most any event, it’s called “Hora Peruana”.
But, in this case, the church was packed well before the appointed hour,
meaning I would stand at the back of a warm, windowless, tin-roofed temporary
structure, inside the fallen, ancient church, until the new church is complete.
The one redeeming moment was when I pressed forward for a photo and Camila
squealed “Look, it’s my friend Goyo !”, adding proudly, to her friends, “He’s
from the United States.”
The rest of the hour and a half was a rapid fire agenda of processions,
recessions, incantations and too little music. The speed was both astonishing
and merciful, as the main purpose seemed to get done with the affair. Kind of
like bad sex.
The pachamanca afterwards more than compensated for the
earlier discomfort. To begin with, it was wonderful to see “my kids” – Camila,
Santi and Amir. I’ve been missing the rascals since their parents moved to Lima and farmed them out
to local relatives. Sadly, they’ll be moving to Lima themselves at the end of the month. And
then there was the feast itself. . Pachamanca is a traditional Peruvian feast,
cooked in an earth pit. A clam bake of sorts. Wood is set into the hole in a
very particular pattern and covered by clean round stones. The fire is lit and
heats the rocks and all the food is carefully placed – again in a very specific
way, so that all the ingredients will be ready simultaneously. The food is
covered with multiple layers of washed banana leaves, then burlap sacks and
then about 6” of dirt to insulate. A cross with flowers is the traditional
“topping-off” ornament.
After an insufferable 2.5 hours, the dirt is scraped away,
burlap and leaves peeled back to reveal a steamy, perfectly cooked buffet. This
feast was : pork, chicken (wrapped in mint), lamb, potato, sweet potato, corn
and fava beans. And it was all succulent and delicious. Beer, wine, pisco and
good cheer flowed at all quarters. And I waddled home – an over-fed, but very
happy camper.
My friend, Popi, patriarch of the Duenas family at the goat
farm, mercifully passed away last night at a hospital in Lima. It was a sad visit with Avelino this
morning remembering this wonderful man. He suffered a stroke last week, that
left him ½ paralyzed and speechless. At 87, he had a long and rich life,
surrounded by loving family to the end. Until his stroke, he worked in the
fields every day – it was his joy, caring for the herd of goats. When I saw him
in the hospital last week, his eyes said he was ready to go. Thankfully, he got
his wish and was not kept artificially alive, as might have happened in the US.
This is part of the Peace Corps experience. We are in
country long enough, that we become part of the community – feeling both their
joys and sorrows. The people we serve are not anonymous faces in a distant
land. They are my friends and family – people that I share meals with and look in
the eye. I would not have it any other way.
Gloria and I presented awards for the AIDS program at the
Colegio in front of the morning “formation”. It really is a formation, where
kids march onto the parade grounds and do military style movements to the
barked orders of an ex-Army colonel. The kids have worked hard and attended
after-school sessions to complete before Navidad and summer vacation. (remember
I’m in the southern hemisphere).
And the playground project is inching along – jungle gym and
swing set complete, work started on see-saw. Looking good, so far.
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