Days in the Life

FEBRUARY 5, 2019 BY CASSANDRA JOHNSON

Saturday was a half day of volunteering and my premiere introduction to the system. Weekday volunteer shifts were from 9:00 a.m. to about 5:30 p.m. or later but we tried to get home in time for dinner. We’d go on excursions on Saturday afternoon through Sunday night, including camping, sand boarding or dune buggy riding or stay in or go to the local bars and venues. We’d hang out in the yard on weekday evenings, maybe go out, maybe sleep. At times, we’d go to the nearby major city of Ica for the movies or similarly citified life but the Pisco market was actually surprisingly big. (I’m mad I brought so much stuff! I didn’t need half of all the extra bug repellent and sunscreen among other things, but it left me plenty to leave to the volunteers to come.) Incidentally, the market is also where I bought my makeshift Halloween costume along with other needed celebratory things.

We would have morning announcements from Monday through Saturday, while sitting down to breakfast. The Director was usually the one to do the announcements before each project leader would speak but we tried to mix that up as well. (I would become a project leader a little later).

Let me mention that unlike lunch, breakfast and dinner were projects that were assigned in addition to construction projects so preparing each of these meals got rotated amongst us as well. There were some pretty interesting rituals that went on during the morning breakfast meeting and in our house in general. (I missed them terribly when I first left). Each day’s meeting began with “Good Morning PSF!” Come to it late at your own risk. This is how you ended up getting volunteered for bathroom duty, rather than nobly selecting it for yourself. Next, I must say that an interesting feeling is evoked when yelling out your own name, which is what you had to do to get added to a project.

Project leaders were listed at the top of the project on our large white board, followed by the people that had worked along with them during the previous day. After that, it was first come, first serve – the calling out of one’s own name until the 3, 4, 5 or so slots had been filled for each one. The leader would lay out the background and the instructions and then the shouting. These projects were ones that had undergone site assessments and ones in which we had enough resources and man and woman power to complete. The site assessments were generated from the requests of residents. This could be from applications they completed or info we had obtained from interviewing them as a follow up.

In addition to the construction jobs, we would trade off housekeeping duties. The house manager led the way, including cleaning the kitchen, the communal rooms and (especially the bathrooms and 3 showers). I feel like the biodiesel shed was a part of this cleanup as well but I’m afraid my memory fails me a little here. Cleanup generally followed our respective work projects and was created so that no one person had it too often but could if he or she would like.

Breakfast duty, like housekeeping, was additional to the day’s work. Dinner was a full day’s project, including a team of about 4 or 5 volunteers getting the necessary ingredients at the Pisco market. It took a lot to prep and cook an evening meal for a range of about 30 to 70 people. Diners assisted the volunteer dish crew by clearing their plates in a prewash multi-step process. It had to be detailed to best avoid what was deemed Pisco belly. The water in Pisco (specifically) was not to be ingested directly so we had to be extra careful to avoid getting sick. We would get sick. It happened on various levels. Some people would feel it slightly and others got the extreme hit. I had it about 3 times. I was able to function but fasted for about one day each of those times and gradually worked my way from bread back to regular meals. You couldn’t readily tell the source. Some great meals were prepared for us outside of the house. Could it be tasty rice in perfect looking water that may just not have been boiled enough? The warning was not to brush your teeth with it and maybe don’t sing in the shower and to think a casually rinsed dish or pot could maybe be the culprit.  On one occasion, one of my roommates, my future novio and I shared a most delicious salad appetizer. It was only later that I thought, I hope that was washed… I hope that wasn’t washed. Wait. What? Still, we volunteers were always with bottled water. We could buy it just about everywhere. It was important for the heat as well.

Since my first day was a half Saturday, I filled in for a special day of English instruction. We had a side door to our communal room that faced the street and we opened that up to a dedicated group of local students, who were free to come there on weekends. We needed about 8 teachers to provide the most quality attention. We turned this area, that was also like a living room, into a temporary classroom with separate tables according to the language level. Afterwards, we turned it back into the communal room A.k.a living room (There was a TV – but only capable of playing videos. We watched movies occasionally).

Our organization’s central mission was reconstruction following the devastating 2007 earthquake and my first construction project would be working on a modular home, just a couple of days later. We took down the remnants of what had actually been destroyed in a fire. We removed the rubble of the former elderly resident’s home and began rebuilding his new house.

I also helped interpret and I was learning more about rebuilding as I went. I had worked with my hands and put items together before but had no formal construction experience. It’s nice that we had a few carpenters in our camp as well. As we cleaned out the old, there was the mixed debris along with a couple of uninvited critters escorting themselves out. Over that next week and a half, it was nice to work and see the pallets go up and end with a nice coat of paint. I was on this project for several days and then moved to another. Still, I would go back to look at the progress. It went up so quickly. That was the beauty of the modular home. We worked on other structures but this one was especially meant to go up quickly and efficiently. We’d break for lunch on some of those initial days and a couple of the guys invited the future homeowner to join us. His tab would be on them. He had been through so much and it was nice to see him smile and come along.

Lunch during projects was usually on our own, so we would pretty regularly go somewhere as various groups. If the work was near home, our options included “the green house” or “the orange house”. It was delicious. This was definitely some people who were informally and very entrepreneurially cooking and serving meals to us in their home restaurants. The multi-purpose gas station across the street from our house also had a restaurant inside and was more internet cafe meets 7-Eleven. There were European, American and Peruvian convenient store snacks and drinks and about 6 public computers. When we were feeling fancy, we’d go up the street to the big restaurant, Diana’s or to restaurant row in the Plaza de Armas (the city square). We’d venture to all of the above on off days as well.

Speaking to the overall condition of Pisco at this time is to imagine a city with some successes but still recovering. There was the notable infrastructure and commerce, but the devastation of the 8.0 earthquake still meant a great number of people without indoor plumbing or proper housing. This extended into El Molino where many had set up temporary makeshift housing. We worked on recovery assistance in Pisco and some surrounding areas. We gained some second families.

Our activities seemed so varied. When I think of my journal, I am surprised how many events could transpire in one day including water and electricity shortages. There were soccer and basketball evenings. We offered some tech instruction, and one volunteer even provided a boxing course. What I loved about this organization was its grass roots continuum. It was what you made it. You could execute any worthy endeavor you were willing to lead. Affiliated with Burners without Borders, PSF was exactly what it was designed to be. Very self-sustaining. We paid for food and lodging and time and time again, my co-volunteers would develop some exciting fundraisers.

My first week ended, and I already had visions of what a weekend could bring. I didn’t read Eckhart Tolle’s Power of Now until 2015, but PSF downtime (as well as the immersion into the physical work) had an intrinsic way of settling me peacefully into the moment. Once I got used to Pisco being my current home and I was able to be wholesome and/or ratchet, I became very comfortable. I was comfortable around people who were passionate about helping the community, passionate about taking some risks and passionate about their respective kinships within the group.

Chatter flowed through the yard in the evenings. It was even more heightened on Saturday. The prime seating near the fire was usually occupied. An iPod would be playing loud enough for everyone. A few people were in the small office or nearby on computers, skyping and otherwise catching up with friends and family. Teasing, laughing, playing games and people waiting until very late to ask was this or that person ready to go out. The crawl space under the second set of stairs was set with empty beer bottles that one could grab and take back to the shop to be refilled. On one such night, I was nursing a bottle of rum and 2 liters of Coke until I was offered some soles in exchange – soles that could now or later get me a delicious pastry from Fabiola around the corner. She was an excellent baker and another entrepreneur. Her little shop was also a laundry haven for us when we wanted to splurge instead of hand washing. She felt like an aunt, one whom I am still fortunate enough to follow.

I am feeling grateful that I just received my old passport back in the mail this past week (following the renewal one that arrived the week prior). I have the memento of this old one being the one I carried around Peru and Bolivia all these years ago. I thank you State Department for your nostalgic protocol and I thank you, dear reader for spending another weekly post with me.