DREAMing about Peace Corps

I promise to get better on this blog--here's an article I wrote about the presentation I gave back in July to some DREAM kids in Burlington. Will do a Jangas write up soon, we've got some serious animal happenings to discuss: Oso (Bear) goes down, Karina our 14 year old dog (oldest dog in Perú) no more, Oliver Anchor Huamaliano Meyer (her orphaned (Oliver Twist) puppy son) pees in my room, the rooster has a baby (still not dead, though he is a dedicated father), and Kyle's approaching birthday will give me an inside look at eating guinea pig (from start to finish). More in weeks to follow. Much Love from Ancash.

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On Tuesday July 5th, 2011 I gave a presentation about my Peace Corps service to several elementary and high school students who live in affordable housing in Burlington, Vermont.

I've known about Peace Corps since I was in diapers and my dad told me stories about his two life changing years in The Gambia in 1967-1969. When my brother did Peace Corps some thirty eight years later we visited him at his site in Lindi, Tanzania.

Unfortunately this level of familiarity with Peace Corps is not the case for many Americans, especially Americans who live in lower socio-economic classes. Hardly any of the children present had heard of Peace Corps, nor knew that they too could one day serve as volunteers.

The elementary and high school students are members of the DREAM mentoring Program (Directing through Recreation Education Adventure and Mentoring). The DREAM program matches college students with children in affordable housing with the goal that this mentoring relationship de-mystifies the idea of a college education for the families and children involved. On July 5th, we took the program a step further: we worked to de-mystify Peace Corps service for the children of the Franklin Square community.

After showing the short 50th anniversary video about Peace Corps, I shared pictures and stories from my first year of Peace Corps service in Jangas, Perú. The kids had pretty standard reactions—trying to learn a few words of spanish, oohing and awing at the snow-capped mountains, remarking how “hot” the popular reggaeton artists Chino and Nacho were, and screaming “ewwww” when the picture of guinea pig on a plate came up in the show.

However, not all the responses were typical. Many of the children in the DREAM program are recent African refugees from Kenya and commented on the similarities between their previous life in Kenya and life in Perú-- remarking excitedly about my host mother's stove: “that's how we used to cook in Kenya!”

When I mentioned how Peace Corps is an option for all American citizens, a few eyes lit up at the idea. As Peace Corps heads into its next fifty years, many of its volunteers will be refugees who grew up fast in communities similar to the communities they will serve in. These volunteers will bring a whole new meaning to cultural understanding in their service. They will yet again re-define what being American means to the rest of the world. As a soon to be Returned Peace Corps Volunteer, working together as a community of RPCVs we must ensure that every child, regardless of where they are from, knows that Peace Corps, just like college, is out there waiting for them.
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A Look Ahead at Next week's Entry:



Oliver Anchor Huamaliano Meyer (Anchor is the Only brand of milk he drinks)

News Flash:

After a bismal April performance of one blog entry, I'm going for it in May. It's time for a Jangas Animal Update.

I often get chastisted from Beth for my “resort” Peace Corps Housing. OK Beth, it's true, I have a toilet, you have a letrine, my showers are teasingly hot, and yours are taken with a bucket in your host family's “living room,” but you ain't got nothing on me in terms of animals.

For the non-Meyer family readers who haven't seen my house, my door opens directly to the outside. When I wake up I am in a cuy (guinea pig) zone. My family raises free range cuys—and yes they taste like chicken—in fact, they're delicious. Cuys are a serious business in Ancash, recently my host mom and I headed to Huaraz where she sold four cuys (I believe at about 20 soles each).

My host mom Maximiliana works constantly cleaning, feeding and caring for this economic investment. Mostly cuys eat alfalfa, fruit peals and scraps. As an “economista” they seem to me to be an incredibly efficient investment, and I seriously think they could be an international development project waiting to happen in other parts of the world.

That brings us to the local Jangas crime report. No mom, it's not real crime, Jangas continues to be a very safe environment. Well, I can't lie, it was a real crime. Lonchera, the family dog (I should really use past tense here...) has had it in for the cuys for some time. A few months ago, Lonchera killed a few cuys. Then came the tragic day. My host-sister was home. My host-sister Margarita loves to clean, so one day it came time to clean the animals. I participated (host-family integration, Peace Corps Goal number 2). I am sure we are the only family in Jangas that cleans its animals. Which I'm definitely not gonna complain about, believe me (I don't have fleas in my bed, while friends of mine do...).

So there we sat, rinsing, scraping, and shampooing the various mutts and kittens we have here in the Huamaliano-Cueva-Meyer residence. Lonchera was last, and looked good after her bath. Now recently I've read The Devil in the White City (thank you Duffy), so I'm pretty sure Lonchera had some of the devil in her, and to celebrate her new cleanliness wiped out 7 cuys. She ate a few of them, and killed the others for sport. Seven cuys is a major economic loss, Lonchera was not.

Before she left for another world, Lonchera gave birth to Oso (Bear). Oso is a fat little round dog that gets along well with the cuys (he better).

Lonchera is not the only one that has attacked the cuys in cold blood. Remember the adolescent rooster? Well he's all grown up now. So much so, that he doesn't like to be touched anymore. The other day when it was time for him to go out to pasture, we all tried to corner him. Remember how my door opens to the outside? The fucker ran for it, ran to the back of the room, ignored Katherine's yoga mat, and jumped for the bed, stepping on my pillow (I'm pretty sure this move was just plain gratuitous) before Marco grabbed him.


A few days earlier that week, the rooster stepped on a cuy, killing it. Let's just say it wasn't his week, and let's just say (again) that I think it's time for a chicken dinner. My birthday is coming up after all.
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Side Note: While I have your attention, or at least some of it, I will make an abrupt transition (Matthew's favorite type :).

I would like to use this forum to give a shout out for Matthew Meyer and Jessica Sayre to all of our family and friends (and a few people that read this blog in Ukraine—eso!).

Congratulations Matthew and Jessica for all your hard work over the past four years. The world now has two more intelligent, hard-working, caring doctors. Thanks for the dedication guys. Love you both very much, and will be thinking of you on Sunday.

Sandwiches, Big Birds and my 3.5 Days of Beach Service

2 out of every 5 Peruvians are entrepeneurs. Perú at 40,3% has the highest rate of entrepeneurship in the world, with the world's average being 9,3%.

For our Semana Santa celebrations, my fellow Ancash Volunteers and I headed for the coast—Mancora which is a few hours from the Ecuador border. Mancora has great waves, great food, great sand, and great sun.

In between sunburning myself, surf lessons, boat cruises, (remember, it's all part of protecting and defending the constitution), I realized that this beach was unlike any I'd ever been on, and that in fact it really wasn't a beach at all--it was the freest market I'd ever seen. Up and down the beach there were local entrepeneurs selling everything from the typical rip off sunglasses to a wicker mat you could use to lay on (I almost bought one).

Over my three days, I saw the following things being sold or rented from hunreds of vendors: soda sandwiches, necklaces, earrings, ice-cream, popsicles, sunglasses, beer, umbrellas, hats, etc. There were artists offering to make 2 week tattoos, and hair stylists offering different styles of braids. No one owned a store, no one needed to, a box or a backpack are the only necessities to compete.

By the second day I had already changed my behavior to meet the beach's supply. I started bringing a few soles to the beach. I bought coconut juice from a man that chopped the coconut right in front of me. We rented umbrellas and bought soda from the Avon Barksdale of the West side of Mancora (seen in picture, wearing light blue and white—she really did control the beach).

But most of all, we bought sandwiches. Our favorite vendor by far was the “Sandwich lady.” Where else in Perú can you get a stomach-satisfying piping hot, fresh off the moto-taxi fresh tomato, basil and mozzarella sandwich? Whenever a volunteer would arrive, inevitably, the first question they'd ask was “has the sandwich lady been by yet?.” We learned that she buys them for 3 soles, and sells them for 3.50, selling 80 on a good day. She offered to make extra for our bus trip back.

Even the “boat cruise” we went on was the work of a fellow Volunteer contracting a fisherman to take us out on the water for about an hour to see the sunset. Needless to say, my vision of the Spirit of Ethan Allen were quickly erased.

My favorite example of the intense creativity of the local entrepeneur came on the second day. A huge bird (I think it was a crane), landed near us and wasn't flying away. A huge crowd formed around it.

As the bird didn't interest us that much, we decided to go for a swim, and on the way back I joked that there'd be someone standing with the bird offering to take your picture with it for a couple soles. When we got back, my friend told me that recently a guy had offered her the opportunity to take a picture with the bird for a comfortable 8 soles.

It all made me think back to a conversation Matthew and I had a few years back in Italy as we watched street vendors enter discotecas selling roses, glow in the dark sunglasses and glow sticks—Matthew wondered aloud if the US lessened its laws against strict street vendors if just a few people might leave the US's giant informal market in drug trafficking to start their own small business.

As I got on the bus back to Huaraz, to climb those 10,000 feet again, they started loading people's luggage. Our backpacks landed next to a basket full of about 20 chickens—undeniably another small profit in a neighbor's small business.

A Peace Corps Week

Before I receive an angry message from Jean saying I haven't blogged in a while, I figured I'd get one up. Jean—I'm still waiting for that e-mail by the way—passive aggression is big here by the way.

I think the reason I haven't put a blog up in a while is that after ten months in Perú, the not-so ordinary is beginning to feel ordinary. Sheep being lowered from a roof on a rope—seen it, uncomfortable moments with host family—felt them, Quechua—been talked about it in, rain—been pelted by it for 6 months, guinea pig- ate it, bread-helped cook it, cultural events—immersed self in, cultural music—danced to.

So instead of a specific memorable day in the Peace Corps, I figured I'd share a week with y'all. Today is Monday, and my memory is fresh—so let's see what I did today.

Monday:

Teach English in the colegio (English teaching is almost undoubtably every Youth Development PCV's least favorite task)--Ian, Kyle and I all teach it on Monday to get it done with. Today I taught some question words and greetings. It was riveting.

Internet in Tarica—very slow, not recommended, but a great price.

Lunch at homestay—very bland (stomach issues), not recommended, but great price.

Preschool Classes 3-5 p.m.-- Very Fun, definitely recommened, incredible price. This is a carry over from Vacaciones Utiles—every Monday and Wednesday, me, Marionella, Santa, Yessenia, Pierro, Angie, Diego, Jilary and various other 3-8 year olds get together for two hours of coloring, art activities, children's stories, mathematics or if you get lucky like today fruit salad making. Eventually the idea is to expand the program with high school trained teachers.

Volleyball-- From 5-7 I use my 1 meter 83 centimeters to drop bombs on my host-country partners. There's way more technique than I initially thought. Unfortunately, there's always a bet on the game, and I'm definitely down a few soles.

Tuesday:

Classes in Jahua—Jahua is a caserio—small town located about 30 minutes walking from Jangas. It's a beautiful hike—as the coolest morning commute I'll ever have, literally through the Andes, this is one of the several moments during each day where I am happy to have ended up in Peace Corps. Sorry Teach For America, but I don't think you've got anything on us here.

The challenge of work in Jahua comes in terms of language. While we've had a few Quechua classes, anyone that has ever studied languages knows that you ain't gonna be teaching a math lesson after studying the Quechua greetings.

However, I have a great, very manageable class here. I help the principal out with the 4th graders—6 girls and 4 boys. The kids stare at me with a little more uncertainty than normally, as they translate both spanish and the language of mathematics. Ocassionally they ask me questions in Quechua, where I do the best I can, picking up the spanish they mix in. This class is definitely a challenge, but the kids and I are getting to know each other, and we're already making some progress. For those that watch West Wing—sometimes it's about getting the kids to go to the blackboard—and although these are some of the shyest kids (and especially girls) I've ever worked with—they're starting to take those steps to the white board. It's a start.

Meeting with Mentors—

This is probably the most exciting program we have going on down here. For those that know me well, they know that throughout college, I mentored Maverick, and in my senior year of college, I fell in love with the DREAM Program. Well, it took about 9 months, but along with Beth Mentink, my mid-western partner in development, we now have a college mentoring program called “Sueña” (need I translate?). With some of the volunteer teachers from Vacaciones Utiles, we started a program that has 6 college students from Huaraz that go visit kids on Fridays. We're working on recruiting more mentors, fundraising, and forming the important relationships with the awesome youth group Beth started. Activities so far include: a birthday celebration, International Day of Water Celebration, and Mazamorra Sale (boiled pumpkin innards—actually really delicious)...

On Facebook—it's called “Sueña Chavin.”

Wednesday: Planning health Promoters and More Pre-school

Thursday: Jahua, Planning and Homework for Promotores de Salud (more on this later).

Friday: Planning and Sueña Program (Another breath-taking hike—it's 40 minutes if you're alone walk fast, it's longer if you form a mentoring program and now don't walk quite as fast...)

Saturday:

Youth Health Promotores! Kyle and I just started this program—the idea is to train about 30 adolescents in preventative health—nutrition, safe water practices, safe cooking practices, safe sexual practices, psychological health etc, so the adolescents can then work in their schools, families, and communities, sharing the information. It is by far the most fun project we have going—I'm not sure who has more fun, the kids or Kyle and I—but I think that's the whole idea of it.

Sunday:

Sunday is no day of rest here. It's business day. After my community analysis, I realized there was a major gap in the breakfast market in Jangas. Ceviche or Chocho (a form of Ceviche with beans) is great—but for breakfast? Really? Apparently acid-reflux isn't an issue here. Anyway, with a few of the JUMPers (Jóvenes Unidos Motivados para el Progreso—Young People United Motivated for Progress)--we sell pancakes and Jello. We were making about 5 soles, until Alberto came over, messed up and put too much baking soda into the mix—thanks to Alberto's clever business strategy, this past weekend, we made about 10 soles on pancakes, 5 on jello.

So that's my basic week—at least the work part. As you'll notice—there's not a whole lot going on at night. Yup, you read it correctly. That's why I have time to write blogs as long as this one, and in depth e-mails to all my friends :). Some nights, I'll watch pirated movies (they usually are scatched and frustrating), other nights I'll talk to host family or friends, other nights I'll talk on the phone with real family, or Peace Corps friends (free in-network talking is amazing), every once and a while we go dancing, but overall reading, writing, and mostly talking are as good as they've ever been.

Even with all the hobbies you can have, Peace Corps leaves more time to reflect about yourself and the world than I knew existed.
For the true Peace Corps Experience—I'll share one of these reflections (get ready—you're about to enter my psyche—jump off the diving board, it's about to get deep :).

Recently my World Map has gotten mostly wrecked. For three months we put in our afternoons, battling the rain and the tiny details of the Pacific Islands to put up a beautiful piece of art. But not even our best efforts could outdo the Ancash rainy season, and a couple of kid's with free time and a little aggression. You'd think this would bug me more, but other than a little feeling of annoyance, I remember that the map was never about the result, it was about the process of learning geography, and making frienships in my community—and as I come out on the bright side of my first Ancash rainy season—not even the lluvia and pealed paint can take that away.

We're already in the plans for a new world map. This time we're going to draw a Peter's projection (another West Wing reference—the map for social justice), a map of Perú, and most of all we're putting the map INSIDE the library. For me, the whole experience shows why human development projects are more lasting than infrastructure development projects. In a Youth Development volunteer's schedule, there's not a whole lot of time spent building letrinas, or chimneys for cooking stoves, but there is a lot of time spent with Marionella, Pierro, Neli, and Angel.

My host brother Marco, who put as much time in on the map as anyone, said it was a representation of the world's current current situation. In a way, he's right. But, as we're learning not even the Hosni Mubaraks of the world can stop united young people motivated for change from re-constructing their own worlds, one week, or day, at a time.

Martes Guerra

In Peace Corps—you really don't know what you're getting yourself into when you place those two feet on the ground in the morning.

A perfect example of one of these days, was this past Tuesday. Everyone had told me that as part of the Carnival celebrations Tuesday was known as “Martes Guerra”--Tuesday War in Huaraz. I was told by my host-brother that it was probably wise to stay off the central streets if I didn't want to be drenched by water balloon throwers.

Easy enough, won't go into Huaraz that day. Problem—my Peace Corps bicycle was ready that day, and my bicycle afficianado host cousin had time on Tueday. Well, it's' safe in the morning—who throws a water balloon before 10 a.m anyway? Easy enough, there and back before 10.

So Niba and I head in on our 9 o'clock combí, there by 9:30. The bike guy's not there. When will he be back? Noon. We'll get it and go, no problem. So we go to kill time—first to what I think was the Peruvian equivalent of the DMV where Niba got his driver's license—according to Niba he doesn't really know how to drive—remind me to stick to the bicycle.

Driver's license, we kill a few minutes on the internet, and it's about 11:30, ready for my bicycle. Now you know this story doesn't end with me heading back from Huaraz dry. Like I mentioned earlier, in a day you never know what you're going to do. When Kyle Blair (remember—the 22 year old psychlogist) calls you, you really don't know what the hell you're going to get into.

Kyle calls me and tells me to stay put, he's got 25 water balloons in a back-pack and he's ready for war. What do you think Niba? We check the festivities out, there's like 3 bands, and a couple groups of guys with buckets—yeah this looks like fun—I just have to be home by 3 for a JUMP Meeting. Sure Kyle, we'll stick around.

This was my first mistake—following Kyle's plans. Niba and I got a quick lunch and started to search for water balloons. We found some on the Plaza—now the question—where the hell are we gonna fill these things? Niba, after seeing a hose, enters a construction site—asks if we can borrow the spicket for a couple minutes—LISTO, we're filling up water balloons in some back alley construction site. While this is going on, I keep seein these guys with buckets. Not water ballons so much, but just straight buckets. They're filling them up in some type of public water supply (I don't want to say sewer water, but, I honestly can't rule it out).

Kyle shows up, dressed for the event w/ his rain jacket, remember Niba and I dressed to pick up a bike—jeans, jacket etc. Real smart.

So now we each take about 4 water balloons each for the “war.” Niba says the tradition is that guys throw at girls, girls throw at guys. Supposedly guys have a code where they don't throw at each other. That is Peruvian guys have a code. Kyle and I enter the fight thinking we're so smart w/ our four water balloons, only to hear “GRINGO” and then get chased by a dozen adolescent muchachos. Fuck—well at least I wore my Doc Martins for the ocassion—built for speed.

I get tagged w/ some water, and have some decent throws myself when I decide it's time to enter into an alliance before we get smoked.

I talk to some of the chicos, and in exchange for an impromptu street english lesson, we now have a team. Now we head for the main plaza, feeling protected by our Huarazino Entourage. This feeling of protection lasts for 2 minutes. I got onto the main strip where there were even more adolescent boys with buckets of sure water—but that's fine, I got my homies, and they're not gonna let anything happen to their North American ally. One of them even gave me the idea to buy a plastic bag for my cell phone.

Just as I finish placing my cell phone in the bag, I hear it. You can't confuse it, you hear it every day, but this time it was louder, it was shouted. GRINGOOOOOOOOO. I look up to see buckets, and more buckets, launched in my direction. I came into get my bicycle at 9 a.m. and there I am at 1:30 p.m. downtown Huaraz, soaked from head to toe...

There's really only one thing to do when you're soaked head to toe in Ancash (where it's not even that warm)--Dance. So we all headed to the central plaza square to dance. As the only two white people dancing (this is a very common occurence for Kyle and I) we naturally did a t.v. Interview where they asked us what we thought of Carnival—I remarked that it was fun, but kind of cold. We got the traditional streamers placed around our necks, and flour on our faces.

At 2:30, we headed back to Jangas, soaked, w/ flour and streamers, and one bike on top of the combí. Mission Complete. After a quick change, and funny explanation to my host family—yes I did return drenched, and yes it was completely worth it, most fun I've had in a while, I headed off to the JUMP Meeting.

Later that night I talked to my friend Ian—Ian told me that he had been to Carnival in Cajamarca—and it had been even crazier and included not just water, but paint—something to look forward to next year. Maybe I won't wear jeans.

A Beautiful Moment

Today was my host mom's birthday. Señora Maximiliana is the hardest working woman I have ever seen. She wakes up with our new rooster.

Ok a short side note. My host family acquired chickens over the holidays. Let's just say I want to have a word with whoever gifted these fuckers. A couple pirated DVDs wouldn't suffice? A pannetone? Nope, apparently chickens were what we needed. Eggs are cheap and plentiful in town, and I don't even think my host family wanted chickens. But here we are w/ one male one female. Well the macho is hitting puberty—and just like all guys go through—his voice is cracking. Unfortunately, my room is right off the “coup”--patio, and Mr. Awkward Change Phase starts singing at 5:50, goes for a few notes, gives up, tries again in a few minutes. I've started to accustom to the “song” so that I can incorporate it into my dreams. Somehow, I had a dream where I blamed it on dad—go for it and analyze it if you want.

Anyway—enough about chickens. The point is my host mom gets up early. So today was her birthday. I had my newly formed youth group over for the afternoon—soon to be trained as Youth Health Promoters!--The name of the group is JUMP (Jovenes Unidos Motivados para el Progreso). The JUMPers were over to learn how to cook applesauce (they wanna keep learning to cook, and I'm running out of recipes...so far, french toast, pancakes, and applesauce...help?).

I told all the kids that it was my host mom's birthday. I figured I'd have to prod them to wish her a happy birthday—they are after all teenagers. Then as I went into the kitchen, I noticed them each, one by one, wishing my host mom a feliz cumpleaños and giving her a traditional cheek kiss. Sometimes you just have to sit back and enjoy what life can mean.

After the group made our applesauce, I headed to Huaraz for my own birthday traditions. My real mom had sent some gifts down about a week earlier, and the Peruvian mail system got them to me right on time :). Listo. As anyone who really knows me well, they know I like to shove 3 day's activities into one. So naturally I was running late, finally headed to the cake shop at about 8:00 p.m.--got the cake, then took my combí ride back to Jangas. I think it'll be a competition with myself to see how much shit I can take on one combí trip during my two years—after you see 15 guinea pigs in a bag on top of a combí, you really start respecting people's packing abilities...

So naturally I got back at 8:30, and my host parents were just heading to bed... oops. I talked to my host brother Eladio to double check this fact—he said, yeah, it'll just have to be a surprise. I said, yup, but he was gonna wake them... So there we sat at 8:45, eating our cake, and having our soy milk too. Thanks real mom for sending down the beautiful scarf, Señora Maxi loved it :). It was definitely a memorable night, and a night where I reminded myself of how much I really enjoy living with my host family, despite it sometime being challenging.

So here I sit at 9:41 p.m., about 7 hours away from the rooster's call (maybe for my host brother's birthday I'll suggest a chicken dinner). After you wake up, you never know where, what and with whom you'll your day will bring you.

Photo Credit: Some Vacaciones Utiles with 4 year olds.

Sunday Sports

My day woke up at 7:30 a.m. It's Sunday, I'm in the Peace Corps. This isn't a usual occurence. I knew it was time to wake up but it's Sunday so I snoozed three to four times. That's when the knock came. It was well deserved, I'll admit. It was Marco, my host brother--<> I responded that, yeah, I'd be up in a bit, but I was only going to the game to watch, as they sure as hell didn't want me to actually play for the soccer team. They've seen me play soccer, and I've seen them play soccer—there's a talent gap the size of the department of Ancash.

Marco assured me that they lacked players. Well, I hadn't played organized soccer for nine years, but for sure I'm better than an empty position.

With this news, I pushed out of bed, turned on Arcade Fire to psyche me up and went in for breakfast in my scrubs—Matthew, this was the best gift ever. My host family was already eating breakfast (or for all I know lunch, they get up really early some days), my host-mom invited me to some Quinua which I accepted. I usually cook for myself (stomach reasons), but Quinua is delicious and good for you.

We headed over for the first game of the day—the 8 Oclock Game. Now remember, it's rainy season here in Ancash. The “field” would best be described as a gigantic mud bath with a few patches of overgrown grass here and there. Not thinking I would be on an official soccer team during my Peace Corps service, I left my cleats in Vermont. Having a size 12 shoe, I can not buy cleats in my entire department (I'm told they sell my size in Lima...). So there I was with my New Balance shoes (thanks Dad), ready to hit the field. I declined being put in goal (this is a good way to be culturally embarrased as I've learned before), and they put me at mid-field.

In the first five minutes I remembered that soccer is hard and requires a LOT of running. I held my own, took a forty yard header in style, ran up and down the field, tried to kick the ball really hard, fell down, pushed some smaller players around, beat my high school student for a ball, etc. By then it was 8:30, and the late-comers arrived, and I was pulled from the game, a decision I was ok with—the game ended as any riveting soccer match does 0-0. Team Cocha, our neighborhood should have beat the other neighborhood, but we couldn't put any goals in unfortunately. The league is inter-barrio where neighborhood teams play other neighborhood teams. Next week we're playing Cocha South, which is apparently like the Yankees-Red Sox Rivalry of inter-barrio play.

After the tie, we headed to the volley-ball court to watch the blue/red team (I forget their name) upset Puncu in 3 sets. After the game I headed home (a 2 minute walk, like everything here) cause it was time for my Sunday Run. Running in rural, traditional Perú is always fun. You basically just decide that you're doing it, and even if your showing more leg than usually gets showed in a week here, you're gonna enjoy yourself. Today I ran to the Virgen of Anta, a decent outing, passing sheep, pigs, angry dogs, sleeping dogs, and plenty of workers and people enjoying their Sunday. The whole way I have a view of Huascaran, the tallest mountain of Perú—not a bad deal...

After the run it was time to prepare my fruit for the week, a new tradition I'm trying to start—here for fruit peals to go down my stomach successfully, they need to be submerged in a diluted bleach solution—it's a decently long process, but then you eat an apple at the end and it's cool.

In the afternoon, as if I hadn't enough sports, we decided to pull out the old Pig Skin (thanks Mom and Dad). I taught Marco and Eladio (my other host brother) how to throw it, then we headed down to the soccer field—which by the afternoon (we got lucky w/ no rain today) had dried and looked somewhat like a soccer field. Finally I got to show off my sport skills, and I wasn't the gringo falling down on the soccer field, I was the gringo throwing the football thirty yards (just like Aaron Rodgers—shout out Packers!). Some students came by and we taught them, and by the end they were throwing it pretty well. I think we're a couple years off from creating an inter-barrio US football league.

And that's basically a Sunday in Peace Corps, I came home had a dinner w/ my host family, talked with my host mom for a bit and here I am, ready for bed—if I'm getting up before eight, I'm definitely going to bed around eight. In my last blog I talked about my specific job—in Peace Corps (for those who didn't grow up w/ a PC dad and then brother)--there are three goals—1 is the work you do in the community, the other two are sharing United States Culture, and learning Peruvian Culture to bring back to share in the US. Today was a goal 2+3 day. Tomorrow, I'm back teaching computer skills to 5-8 year olds.

Happy Valentine's Day—and Feliz Día de la Amistad (here's it's Friendship Day). So to all my friends back home—have a great one.

Your Friend in Ancash,

John William