The Last Quinceneara

I remember the last Quinceneara I was in. I remember dreading every dance practice, every run-through of the ceremony.

I remember thinking, “Kyle, you’re sixteen now…you’re not going to have to be in another Quinceneara for as long as you live. This is the last one.”

That thought got me through all those tedious hours of listening to the Kumbia Kings over and over while learning the steps to the dance the court had to perform.

Now, here I am, twenty-two years old, in Peru, a college grad…and I’m in a Quinceneara.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for the idea of the Quinceneara. It’s symbolic, it’s cultural, it’s ritual, it’s tradition, I get it, I like it.

I just don’t like to be in them.

I’m a behind-the-scenes kind of guy. My hobbies include reading, writing, jogging by myself and spending time chilling with friends and family: my life practically spells out the word low-key. My hobbies most definitely do not include learning funky-fresh new hip-hop steps to perform in front of crowds of relatives and friends.

…but I guess God doesn’t push you to do only what you like to do. Where would the fun be in that? (Because I’m sure somebody upstairs is having a pretty good laugh at my expense about all this.)

So when Sister Juanita asked me if I’d like to have the first dance with Luzmila, the girl who she’s the Madrina for, I had hesitations, but agreed.

“It’s just the first dance, right?” I told myself.

            However, after a string of miscommunications, I currently have the honor and distinction of being Luzmila’s Padrino. I found out this interesting little factoid when I was handed the invitation and noticed a version of my name: “Kile Lavis Seymaur” professionally, and permanently, printed on the expensive looking paper…under the Padrinos category.

            “Oh…wow…I’m a Padrino.” I said looking up from the invitation at Luzmila, her mom and dad. They all nodded, smiling.

            I had forgotten all about the Padrino loophole when I made that solemn oath six years ago. “Kyle…you’re not going to have to be in another Quinceneara for as long as you live…live…live…live…” The words echoed in my mind, now sounding like something from that guy who said that the Titanic could never sink.

            Is it really any surprise that I’m in one then?

            So, swallowing my pride, I bowed, held out my hand, and waltzed like I wanted nothing more in the world than to be in the last Quinceneara I’d ever be in for the rest of my life.

1st WGC Field Report

Most of the things I’d heard about, and learned about Chimbote before coming have proven true. I have seen the realities of the surveys. What were once numbers and percentages are now faces and families. The statistics, for instance, are all pretty accurate. Of the 1,000,000 people living in the Ancash region (the state Chimbote is in) 32% are considered to be poor. 17.6% are considered to be living in extreme poverty.

These are, no doubt, pretty shocking percentages.

320,000 people living in poverty.

176,000 men, women and children are living in extreme poverty, which means—according to the World Bank—that entire families are subsisting on about $1.50 US dollars a day.

$10.50 a week to buy food, clothes and to seek healthcare.

What does this translate to in terms of actual realities?

It means that many families are placed in the position of having to decide whether to buy 1 kilo of potatoes, a pair of shoes for their barefoot child, or to seek medical attention for their elderly relative who’s had a fever for three days.

They can’t choose all three.

Over the past two months I have noted what I see as the major problems afflicting this particular population and have divided them into three categories, Healthcare, Education, and Income.

Healthcare – There is not an adequate level of quality healthcare available. The Posta in Cambio Puente is state-run, understaffed and ill-equipped. They are making do with what they have. Their work is commendable but it simply isn’t adequate, and that’s a fact. For a town of over 2,000 people, a medical team of 20 is not sufficient.

According to a 2007 survey by Doctors of the World, the average ration of doctors to patients in the US is about 390 to 1.

In Peru it is around 850 to 1.

In Cambio Puente it fluctuates between 1,000 to 1 and 2,000 to 1. Those who can afford to travel for medical attention do, those who can’t are forced to wait in long lines, they are given minutes with a doctor or staff member and they are forced to take their advice. No second opinions. No questions asked. I heard a woman say that a nurse had been telling the mothers who hadn’t been taking their children in for vaccinations, “Fine. But you’re baby is going to die. Don’t vaccinate them, they’ll die.”

We know that vaccines prevent a lot of deadly diseases, but to use fear instead of education to convince mothers to vaccinate their children isn’t right. The people here need alternatives.

Education – One of the most proven and effective ways to end a negative cycle is through education of a population’s youth. By giving the youth opportunities to improve their own lives and the lives of their families, entire communities can be transformed in a relatively short period of time. Again, just like the problem with the lack of healthcare, there is a lack of reliable, affordable education options. According to Nation Master, the average Peruvian has about 7.6 years of education. Too often I have seen children babysitting children, children accompanying their parents into the fields while they work for a lack of alternatives. Montessori type centers are being created for early childhood stimulation, but this is still an area that needs a lot of work.

Income – With about half a million people, Chimbote is a large city. Like most large cities, Chimbote attracts thousands of people looking for work. Especially people who are living in extreme poverty in the mountains and surrounding rural areas. Many believe that because Chimbote is so large, there must be an abundance of job opportunities. This, sadly, is not the case. Therefore men and women are forced to rely on part-time jobs or resort to working the types of jobs where they are needed, sporadically, whenever there is work to be done, like during harvest time.

These types of jobs almost always include manual labor, are hazardous to ones health, don’t come with benefits and don’t cultivate skills that can help better a person’s economic situation. People working these types of jobs are also more vulnerable to be taken advantage of in terms of pay and number hours they are made to work. Programs which help increase a family’s economic stability would help greatly in the Healthcare and Education categories, as it is well known that an increase in disposable income usually correlates with an increase in healthcare and education opportunities.

One organization’s project in Cambio Puente worked with families to help cultivate small plots of vegetables and was received with much enthusiasm and produced impressive results. By having their own home-grown vegetables, they had more money to spend on things other than groceries, which helped to relieve some of their monetary burden. It was also something that was fun and allowed the families to feel like they were taking ownership of their situation.

While the statistics are troubling, and seeing how these statistics manifest themselves in real life is even more troubling, they don’t paint a completely accurate picture. I have realized that it is unfair to generalize entire populations here solely based on studies and statistics.

There are many problems here, true. But there are also many assets here, especially in the form of human capital. The people here are resourceful and when they work together as a community it will definitely be possible to bring about the changes they desire. Along with well-organized and focused social services, the people here really do have an opportunity to break the cycle of poverty they are in.

Incarnate Word Missionaries: Communication:

Incarnate Word Missionaries: Communication:: I whip out my cell phone and say “Uh-huh” under my breath as I check my email. “Well, what do you think?” my friend asks. “About what?” I an...

A Different Way of Thinking, revised.

 

Now that I’m able to get around town more easily and I understand the language better, and now that it doesn’t take me three and a half days to do my laundry, I have had the chance to learn a lot more about the situation here in Chimbote and Cambio Puente.

I have been able to pick up on things other than language during my time here, too. For instance, now I know the difference between the smell of a cooking fire made from wood and one made from dried corn cobs.

Useful? Maybe not.

Interesting? I guess.

But I have learned, other more valuable lessons since being immersed here for about a month (I can’t believe it’s already October).

The novelty of being in a new place has worn off a bit and now I'm able to work on having a little more critical and objective perspective.

Whereas I used to think that everybody was poor in Cambio Puente, that it was just something that existed across the board, I’ve come to realize that it’s all relative:
 For instance, you can tell a lot about a family's situation just by taking a good look at their house:

Having brick walls is a big deal.

Having brick walls made from concrete instead of mud is an even bigger deal.

Cement floors? You’re on your way up.

Pictures of your children graduating from school on your walls might as well be expensive paintings.

Selling groceries out of your home is an indicator that you are more than likely middle class.

Selling products out of a location that is separate from your home and you’re most likely in the upper-middle class.

You know you’ve hit it big if you’re moving to a home in Chimbote.

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Also, just because some women here had never heard of the idea of proteins, carbohydrates and food pyramids doesn’t mean they didn’t know anything about nutrition. They don’t need to know how to read a nutrition label to understand that if their child’s diet consists of cookies, rice and potatoes, they aren’t going to be healthy. 
The problem lies in what we choose to do with the information—just like in the U.S. we know that McDonald’s is bad in excess, yet we still have people who eat their daily.

Is it an economic problem? Of course it is.

Is it unfair that a mystery meat and French fry combo costs less than grilled chicken breast and spinach? Definitely.

This is why programs like Sembrando Infancia are so important. S.I. gives parents the extra information they need to be able to make the best decisions for their families while also empowering them to be accountable for their health. 

The responsibility is placed squarely on the parents—because we all know that if it were up to the kids they´d be fine eating mini-marshmallows and fistfuls of dirt for the rest of their lives—and if there is one attitude that I’ve noticed is the most prevalent here, it’s that parents really do want the best for their children.

—and it seems that some parents just need to hear somebody tell them: "At the end of the day, you are in charge of your child´s health. What are you doing about it?" for the message to really sink in.

 

Another thing I´ve learned is that there is a clear definition between the people we are working with and the people we are working  for. 

We are working with people like Monica. She saw a little boy being neglected, decided that it was wrong, and chose to do something about it. And there are many more just like her in this community, Peruvian men and women who recognize that things should be, and can be better. They are educating themselves and their families, they are going to seminars, forums, protests. They are taking a stand, which is really motivating for me to see because, after my two years are up here, it is going to be people like Monica who´ll have to take charge of the development of their own communities. 

Then there are the people we are working  for.  People like Jesus´ grandpa. 
I´ve been thinking a lot about him lately and time has changed my perspective of him as well. He doesn´t understand what cerebral palsy is. He doesn´t understand why or how it is that his daughter had a son who will be a burden on his family for the rest of his life. I´m not making excuses for him, I´m only trying to understand where he´s coming from. Maybe the way he sees it, just like with the animals he´s worked with all his life, all Jesus needs is some tough love and strict correction. It's no wonder then that he scratches his head in confusion when the giant Caucasian comes to his house to bend and unbend his grandson´s knee—the same knee that bends and unbends quite enough when he drags him to the tienda down the street.

The other day I was trying to help Jesus walk in a straight line during his exercise routine. I held him up by his arms and we walked in front of his house where his grandpa sat watching us through narrowed eyes.

Jesus tripped and fell suddenly. 
I felt really embarrassed that I'd let that happen and I quickly helped him up, dusted him off and looked up sheepishly at his grandpa.

He just stared, unconcerned.

We tried again. Before his third step he fell to the ground.

"Maybe if I hold him better, tighter."

We tried it again, he wiggled out of my grip as if he wanted to do it on his own.

¨Si se puedes, Jesus.¨ I said and let him try.

He immediately fell to the ground.

Then I saw it. 
A mischievous grin.

He was playing what I now call ¨The Falling Game.¨ I sat him down and he laughed as I shook off my frustration. I checked to see what grandpa thought of all this. He cocked his head as if to say, ¨Ah-ha, not so easy, huh.¨

That experience really allowed me to reevaluate my opinion of him. I know that he loves Jesus, and probably Jesus-Jesus too. I know that he probably cares about his family a lot. It is apparent that my presence bothered him at first, but now he seems more curious than aggravated. It will probably take some time, and he may never change, but I´m here for him just as much as I´m here for Jesus—and for me, that simple shift in thinking has made all the difference.

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The Hang of Things

The other day I was visiting with a friend in Cambio Puente. She was telling me a story and halfway through it, I was jolted by an insane thought: 

“Wait a second…she’s speaking Spanish. She’s speaking Spanish and I can understand her.”

Her voice began to fade as I celebrated my victory.

            “I think I’ve done it. I think I’ve become…fluent.”

A little later I realized that I didn’t know if the entire time she had been telling me a story about herself or a friend of hers. She kept saying estaba which can mean herself or also someone in the third person. I think.

            But hey, at least I knew she was talking about something that happened in the past, right?

After that we were talked about our pets and I'm pretty sure I said something like, “I have remembering…when I am children…I am many dogs.”

So maybe I’m not fluent just yet. But at least now I’ve learned to say other things besides the three different ways to apologize.
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            Other than that, I finally feel like I’m getting the hang of things…sometimes literally.

For the past week we’ve been weighing and measuring children in Cambio Puente. Since my coworkers discovered that I’m strong enough to hold the scale suspended with a kid hanging from it, that’s what I’ve been doing for the last five days.

Honestly, I’m just grateful to have a job that makes me feel useful, and if it means holding babies all day, so be it. Normally it would take two people and a broomstick for the girls to weigh a kid, but with me they’re able to hook on the small seat to the scale, put the kid in, badda-bing badda-boom: 13.4 Kilos.

Sister Sarah Lennon, one of the Incarnate Word Sisters in San Antonio told me once she heard that my friend Cathleen was leaving, that I shouldn’t worry because there would soon be another “Cathleen” to take her place. She was right. One of the head nurses of the program, Diana (don't let it fool you, it's Dee-ah-nah) has been really helpful over the past week. While making our rounds from house to house she’s been helping with my Spanish.

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She also has done a lot to help me feel included and a little more independent. One afternoon she gave me the map, pointed out the houses we needed to visit and waited for me to lead the way.

“Pero–” I started to say.

She interrupted me with the “I don’t want to hear it” shrug.

We didn’t get lost once.
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On Wednesday, as I said goodbye to the team outside the Clinic in Chimbote and made my way home, sand crunching in my shoes from all the dust in Cambio Puente, I realized that I had made it through an entire workday without speaking English, and I did alright.

It has been difficult, but now that I’m at this point—I knew it would be possible, but now I can really feel it—I’m able to relax a little more and enjoy everything going on around me.

I’ve made it over that first big hurdle, and even though I know there are going to be more, right now, I’m just really glad to be here.
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