A large part of what I do is communication. In Spanish we say, “pasar la voz,” which literally means “to pass the voice.” This morning I woke up to another beautiful sunny day. There hasn’t been much of a rainy season this year, which gives me a slight uneasy feeling. For one, the seeds I’m planting in the tree nursery will need almost daily care without the help of rain. And two, the tourists will begin to arrive in masses to enjoy the 4-day Santa Cruz trek which starts in Cashapampa. With not a cloud in the sky, I set out to the next town on foot, a mere 40 minutes’ stroll. The benefits of walking there are mostly determined by whom I encounter along the way. Walking past the plaza, I see the staff of the health post. I stop to coordinate plans for a project they are starting called, “Healthy Schools.” The staff of the health post had approached me for support on this initiative, since I can go into the schools and give talks on health issues related to the environment. I wrote down the date for the next meeting and continue on my way. Leaving the plaza, I run into one of the administrators of the rural internet project. I’ve been asked to teach computation classes, but with only 3 of the 5 computers working, we need to get those fixed first.
Once in the next town, I go to the house of the president of ASAAM, the tourist association I work with. The 112 members of ASAAM have agreed to my project idea, but I’ve been floundering with how exactly to go ahead in a sustainable fashion. Sure, I can write up a business plan, take care of the marketing, obtain the trees, solicit a parcel of land from the National Park, and dig the tree beds myself, but…that wouldn’t be very sustainable, would it? So instead of doing all that work myself, I’ve been trying to form a tree committee made up of interested ASAAM members so that I can support them in the project. After all, this is for them, the community, the park, and the tourists, but certainly not me. I presented the project idea several times at several ASAAM meetings with and without the Park present, and still have seen no progress towards forming a tree committee. I consulted my boss and our regional coordinator, and both agreed I should bring the trees in regardless, and show ASAAM we need to get started.
So there I am, knocking on the door of the ASAAM president, to find he is out of town for the day. I write a quick note, trying to succinctly say everything I need to say, in one short paragraph (in Spanish) while his wife is standing in the open doorway waiting for me to hand over the message. It says, “Good morning. This Monday I will be bringing 200 quenal Please ask an ASAAM member to be present to help us with the trees. We will arrive Monday, April 19, 2010 in the afternoon. Thanks, Erica Wrona, Peace Corps.” I had a whole list of things I would’ve liked to discuss, but I’ve got to work with what I have. trees to the ASAAM Cashapampa meeting hall.
Then I head up the hill to the house where a friend used to live. One day a year ago, I was running through this town, and heard a gringo’s voice yell, “Gringa!” I looked over and there was a white person sitting there playing cards with the kids. Turned out he was a returned Peace Corps volunteer from Bolivia, had returned to the states after his service, was going on a major bike ride from California to Chile, but got hit by a truck in Big Sur, California and woke up in a hospital, lucky to be alive. And there he was that day, sitting in the plaza with an infected arm. He had arrived in my neck of the woods due to its proximity to thermal baths. After spending the day soaking in the natural healing powers of the baths, he tried to get a taxi off the mountain, but the taxis don’t leave after a certain time in the afternoon. He stayed the night in one of the local’s homes, and ended up staying six months. He was building a house and working the fields, planning to make his life here, until his arm got re-infected and the medical facilities here weren’t sufficient to treat him. So, what I became was the messenger. I would pass messages back and forth between the family and what I’d receive via email from Zach. In return, I am friends with another wonderful Peruvian family, and gives me an excuse to stop on by anytime to see how they’re doing.
The third stop of the day was down the hill, past the plaza, past the school, and up the opposite hill. I knocked on the door of the pastor’s house, and encountered his wife. I told her that I had received an email from the missionaries at Ingleside Baptist Church. They would be arriving in the middle of May for a week. They are staying here, at your house, I said. She looked neither informed nor surprised. Just happy and smiling. And talkative. Her Spanish vocabulary was at times wordy and formal, as I’d heard previously that she had learned Spanish from the Bible. With my mission complete, I headed back to Cashapampa for lunch. I didn’t accomplish anything tangible, but I had spread a lot of word.
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