MARCH 31, 2019 BY CASSANDRA JOHNSON
I continued on with my mission the next day. I didn’t know if it would be completed but knew it was possible. The objective was to follow up on a fellow volunteer’s request to revisit a dear project of his and a dear family. The goal was easily placed upon my heart. At the same time, I came to remember that this was also coincidentally the family that had introduced me among their relatives as “sobrina de Obama”. The only problem was that I did not realize that I had the last name switched up on the first day, so Felipe and I initially embarked to the correct location with incorrect data. However, this allowed us the interesting experiences we had at the Vlla Tupac Amaru police station in addition to friending one of this district’s administrator. This was also the day I walked the second highest number of steps since I started noting them on my healthcare app.
My dear retired Felipe was true to his word when he said the program was mine to make. We found ourselves in the central area across from the police station once the collectivo driver dropped us off. We were also near one of many parks. We would eventually visit the one especially constructed for the community by a group of volunteers. I had been there twice during my time there, to see the park and the family. The family was indeed delightful and resilient.
Finding ourselves now across from the Tupac Amaru police station, I noticed that the gentleman standing outside of it was holding a rifle. I was tempted to have this be an addition to my photo gallery but was also thinking me aiming my camera phone at him and perhaps him aiming something else at me wasn’t ideal. He wasn’t standing outside for an extended period of time when we were there. We headed inside the station and Felipe broke the ice, set it up, giving my background about our volunteer group and the project. My Spanish was measured, charismatic and flawless with each officer as they shuffled us into their back office. They told me to make myself comfortable, pointing to a seat in the office to which they guided us. I sat. Felipe stood beside me. There was something to the militaristic feel of the moment that made me feel I needed to behave formally. Yet, what came across the most was their willingness to find an answer to the location of both the family and the park question. One by one, various officers would enter the office trying to recall the park or the name I had given them, which at this point was still incorrect. Some generally recalled the park that had been built by the Pisco Sin Fronteras volunteers. They nodded knowingly towards a distant memory.
(I would not discover the right name until I was back at my hostel later that night.) Here, we were encircled by 4 to 5 officers at a time. The gentleman that occupied the office sat diagonal, searching the database for us. The gentleman that ushered us in sat across from me now. The message of our purpose would get relayed to all the guys entering and exiting and I appreciate how considerately they would try to recall and find information. The Afro Peruvian ones would seem to do it with a familial nod. I’m glad everyone was nice, and I decided to continue going along with their substantial assistance for as long as it lasted, rather than call attention to the idea that I may be wasting their time. I’m getting wiser and learning that dismissing myself can be dismissive to others. We have to give help and we have to accept it. We are here for each other, in whatever form that may prove to take.
We thanked them and walked towards an area that was a good lead. So many steps taken that day. (My Rally healthcare pedometer app concurred.) We asked more details of a few people along the way and we had some increasing success. One such instance was when a family directed us to the district director, Maritza. (She and I are Facebook friends now and her tagline reads FULL OF LOVE – which is true.) As busy as she was, she threw herself into helping us find the family and the park. I tell you it will be wonderful what she can accomplish the next day when I actually have the correct name for her.
Maritza’s continued busyness: The next day she would be preparing for a huge community gathering, all about providing resources and improving the local conditions. She would personally be going to Pisco’s main square early in the morning to pick up groceries. She and her team would later be cutting up vegetables and preparing a large dinner to go along with the event. She said we could return to her office here in Tupac Amaru around 10:00 a.m. the next day. It had been late when we began this first day’s visit. Felipe had added something to the story of me doing something like a follow up interview, but I think the generosity was forthcoming enough with the recognition of me being a former PSF volunteer. Still it was endearing, when I’d hear him chime in and add something on my behalf.
We returned not promptly the next day. I knew it was unusual for Felipe to be running late so I walked along the plaza not far from my hostel, sending Maritza a message that we were still on our way. I knew very strongly that she would be the key to me finding the family that wasn’t really missing. Plus, I now had more information for her. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it sooner, but the Iris we sought had to be a Facebook connection to my friend who had made the request. She was. He had just made a minor typo in the last name he had sent me. My choices were reduced to two people now and I was confident that Maritza would be a big help. When she failed to recognize the mistaken Facebook contacts I had shown her the day before, it was actually a reassurance that she was truly familiar with who did and didn’t live there. More specifically, the prior confusion came with me only having the right first name correct the day before and it had been 9 years too long for me to be certain if Iris in pictures was the same woman I had met just twice.
Martiza’s eyes immediately lit up with recognition when I showed her the new photos. She directed Felipe and I to Iris’s sister’s office and appealed to her to reach out to Iris’s children. She had given her the background information about me and my hope to reconnect. Her sister relayed this from her desk phone and Iris’ son and daughter excitedly came to retrieve us. They would ride back over with us in a tuk tuk to where they now lived with their mom, this sister and the extended family. We had located them! I was banking on this working out eventually if we asked enough questions. The children’s excitement mirrored ours. They were full of life, full of smiles.
I was imagining that Sam, who was a lead volunteer on this project, would be pleased. I was honored to say hi on his behalf and likewise I was personally thrilled to see the family I knew to tag me as sobrina de Obama.
There was actually an update from Sam’s visit about two years prior. It was dear. The children had been outspoken in their questions and ideas for him. From what I could see, they were equally energetic. They were mindful and well behaved as well. Before riding back over to their home, they had hugged us. We chatted a little. I asked about their new little hermanita and then, Vamos. We were soon in the main room with them and their mom, Iris.
We pulled up and she was in a chair feeding and bonding with the newest little sibling, who happened to be just 9 days old. Mother and child seemed one instead of two. Our conversation was like being home, comfortable laced with humor (everything in Spanish). Relaxing. We caught up on lives ongoing, where were particular volunteers now, which ones were still a couple, who was married, etc. We laughed fondly of my back in the day intro to the family. I was touched she remembered. I had been there just twice, visiting and for the fundraising dinners. I was on several projects and a project manager for some time, but this was not one of mine. I was fortunate I got to meet them.
Felipe and I flew past several hours there. He now had a new connection in Villa Tupac Amaru, thanks to this visit. He quickly bonded with Iris’ older relatives. We had moved our conversation from the main room with just him, Iris and her children to outside where the older relatives and two teenage nephews were preparing lunch. The nephews were cutting up potatoes to be added in and later playing on their phones. We were now in a fortress while what made up the cooking area could be seen on the other side through the sheer covering that surrounded us. We sat near the dining table and it felt like we were a part of the garden. We were encircled by nature, chatting about all things under the sun. A pet cat played with the oldest but young daughter. She grabbed two mangoes for Felipe and I to take with us later on. Lunch was ready and in true Peruvian style, we were automatically included. The places at the table were counted out with us as additions. This was not even a second thought.
I now, unfortunately, had to come to terms with the fact that I was getting sick. I felt I could pretty much pinpoint the cause. I had made a very rookie mistake and let myself enjoy a little side salad during my lunch out on my second day in Pisco. It was a quality one, sitting there all small and unassuming, next to my pollo milanesa. I was even venturing off my now mostly vegetarian diet with the pollo, but this was rare. I had not done red meat for decades but still would have some chicken, fish, turkey and some other seafood. Yet, for the last year I wasn’t even doing chicken and turkey, and this was truly a preferential development to the taste, feel and love of delectable non-meat products. (I could honestly eat vegetables, veggie burgers, veggie chicken, biscuits plus all types of bread and dessert and I would be happy for the rest of my days).
Back with this salad as the culprit: It had avocado, tomato, lettuce, cucumber and a tasty sauce. It was little next to my chicken and rice and potatoes. It occurs to me the water the rice was cooked in could have also been the offender. It could have either been that the salad was washed in regular water or the rice water wasn’t boiled enough. It is just that you simply do not partake of it directly from the plumbing. You take a chance because the food is wonderful, and food is necessary, and it could have been okay. Fortunately, there are massive amounts of bottle water sold everywhere as well but you are not always in control of the source, prep or end product. I know that living there, we could also get careless in our own precautions. That was my story at least one of the three times I had Pisco belly 9 years ago. I joked with friends that I guess I was trying to relive most everything this time around and so I stayed sick for my last couple of days in Pisco.
Being sick was not at all something that I was going to let interfere with my fun and happiness. It may have been slowing me down and periodically sitting me down from bench to bench, but I was planning on powering through. I felt, from experience, that food would exacerbate the problem, so I was left with fasting and eventually introducing some light food back into my diet a day later, a day after the stomach issues first began. I had every intention of completing my final objectives.
Returning to Pisco, Peru: Conclusion
Continuing Soon