More Language Shortcomings

1.) I am learning a very particular sort of Spanish. Because I'm dealing with kids, most of the phrases I've learned are something like, "Why are you shouting?" or, "Please let go of my leg," or, "Stop dragging your sister across the floor." Although not the most versatile expressions, they will equip me well when I adopt a few of these little buggers.

2.) I'm pretty sure I ate some deep fried chitlins the other day. The women in the kitchen were enjoying a bowl of these crispy, ambiguous treats and Señora Maria offered some to me. I asked what they were but couldn't understand her explanation. Partly to live up to my own standard of trying new things and partly to defy the women’s expectation that I wouldn't eat them, I threw a few in my mouth and chewed for a long, long time.

3.) Last week, a mother was dealing with her irate 2-3 year old son during lunch. While she tried for a good while to change his mood, she eventually gave up and he remained agitated. He kept hitting her. As a three year old, he wasn't doing any harm, but the situation was still very distressing. Not so much because of the child's anger but by the mother's indifference to it. She never told him to stop, never blocked his hands. She just sat there and took the punches. At one point, when she had her head bowed, her son swung at her and she flinched. She couldn't have been afraid of him or of potential harm. I think she recoiled out of habit. She recoiled because that's what she knows to do, what she’s accustomed to, that’s how other men in her life treat her.

As I stood and watched this scene unfold, different desires tore through me. I wanted to wedge myself between the mother and child, hold his arms at his side, look him squarely in the eyes, and say, "Nunca. Nunca. Nunca." Never. Never. Never. However, I didn't want to appear to be the know-it-all American who tries to impose his values on others, although domestic violence is unacceptable in any culture. So I made eye contact with the boy whenever I could and shook my head. It didn't help. There have been very few times when I have every felt as inept as in that situation.

Shake It...Eventually

African dance came to the comedor. Chincha, the neighboring city, is the center of Afro-Peruvian culture. Tonight, I partook in my first class.

There was one instructor and a two member band, both playing percussion - a set of bongo drums and a wooden box. While the musicians set the rhythm, the instructor demonstrated the moves and then went to each student to ensure they knew the steps. He spent a lot of time with me.

This class confirmed two things. First of all, I'm a sweater. Not the wool kind you wear on chilly days but the kind of person that sweats easily and prolifically. Not knowing what was to come, I started the class in khaki shorts and a nice t-shirt. 30 minutes in, I was dripping with sweat and I ducked into my room to change clothes. At the end of the class, just 30 minutes later, I had to hang my second set of shorts and t-shirt up to dry.

The second confirmed fact was that my dancing capabilities have been hindered due to my wonderful and fairly middle American upbringing. For the first 25 years of my life, I learned that under no circumstances am I to ever shake my hips. Sure, I felt allowed to dance, as long as that dancing was in a strict side to side motion, my full body remaining in a vertical line. Therefore, when I try to move my hips in a Latin motion today, they are a bit hesitant, they don't quite comply, as if they're asking, "Is this really a good idea?"

Luxury

I've been sick the last few days. My best guess is that the bug came from eating some already peeled fruit from a street vendor. The turbulence continued as a result of eating a bowl of rice and bean when I was starting to feel better. Bad idea. Awful, terrible idea. My stomach freaked out and swelled to twice, maybe three times, its usual size. No exaggeration.

Thus, I have spent much of the last 72 hours in bed, trying to find a position in which it didn't feel like a baby alien was going to pop out of my belly. I stayed away from the morning food preparations and kids couldn't use the computer lab in the afternoon. I have been pretty much useless…and everything has been fine. I was removed from the daily equation and all has gone smoothly. The kids got fed and the comedor proceeded without missing a step.

That is a high form of luxury. I wasn't feeling well so I rested. I had an option. I could take care of myself. Señora Maria has been fighting a chest cold for over a month. It's gotten better but her cough has only diminished from a heave-inducing fit to a manageable annoyance. She's never taken a day off. She's never even slowed down. She can't. Remove her from the equation and the comedor encounters major problems.

Luxury lies the ability to choose. It's the difference between,

"I'm sick. I'm going to stay home today."

and,

"I'm sick. I still have to go to work because if I don't, my family won't eat and they'll give my job to someone else."