The Best of Times...the Worst of Times

It was the best of times...it was the worst of times...

There have been some tough moments in Peru, but for sure the toughest was this past weekend. At the same time, though, it was an incredible weekend.

First, the incredible part...Every year, Arturo and his friends pitch in money to buy Christmas gifts for some small villages in the mountains. It's informal, but well organized. They get an official list of the names and ages of all school children in the village, and give each one a gift with his/her name. Every year is different depending on how much money there is or what is donated. For example, for the past 5 years, one baker has donated enough paneton (a special Christmas bread) for each child to have a piece. Other people give baseball hats with their company logos and others just donate money. This year, over 30 people made donations and a group of 20 went up north to visit the villages and hand out presents.

This was the amazing part.

We gather all the kids together, sing songs, get promises to study hard and be good, and then hand out gifts.

At first, this felt a bit superficial and classist. The light-skinned, tall Peruvians from Lima coming to the small mountain villages for one day -- and then most will leave and never think about these people again. However, watching the sheer joy on these kid's faces left me thinking that this did way more good than harm. It isn't with an official organization (so no money gets taken out for 'expenses' or lost), it isn't anything that gets promotion or advertising. It's just people who pool their resources together and donate money, products and often their time.

One interesting detail is that the parents are separated from the children. Why? Sadly, the parents tell their kids (who are grinning from ear to ear) that there present isn't enough and to go ask for more. Or, they thrust their babies in your face and ask for money. Without their parents, however, the kids are just kids enjoying themselves.

What was the bad part about the weekend?

Of the 20 people who went on this trip (which was an 8 hour drive each way, including an overnight stay), only a handful spoke to me. Some not only didn't speak to me, but actually ignored me when I spoke. There was no friendly encouragement to speak Spanish and despite a one-on-one acknowledgement that it's difficult when 6 people are all speaking at the same time, using slang, and speaking quickly, no one made an attempt to speak to me slowly and clearly. Obviously, Arturo was there, but it was so busy that outside of the car trip, he really didn't see how I was treated and we had no time alone to speak. He also, in his own way, just tried to be encouraging by telling me that it's normal and I should just relax. This was not very comforting. Essentially, I arrived back home and burst into tears.

For the first time since arriving, I began to seriously question if I wanted to be here. Learning a new language - really learning it, not just being able to order in a restaurant or tell a taxi driver where to take you - is hard. I hate having to constantly ask people to speak more slowly or to nod along and smile while not understanding what is being said.

At the same time, earlier this week, Arturo and I went out with his friend and wife and had a lovely time. I didn't get everything and couldn't say all that I wanted to, but it was all in Spanish and it was fun. I am speaking more quickly, I've expanded my vocabulary and I am reading a short Stephen King novella is Spanish.

So, I'm trying to be positive and just live life day by day (along with a friendly smile and Spanish-English dictionary).