First-Year Global Jumbos

by Fatima, Civic Semester participant

Three months could not have gone faster. Each week I called my mom and told her about my adventures, excursions and health, and each week she would say “Another week closer to coming back”. But when I called her just now, instead of her usual response, she asked what time she and my brother should come pick me up from the airport Friday morning. As I began to search my boarding pass for an arrival time, I realized that my time here is done, like it really hit me.

How can a place turn into a home for someone, if they’ve only known it for three months?

It’s because for three months, home was where I could look out the window of my room and ask what’s for lunch or dinner and then proceed to make Buldak ramen with Cassie and Sahana, just to dance to “Dancing Queen” with them. Home was where I could barge into Mathew and Pablo’s room and annoy them because the younger sibling in me wanted to disturb someone’s peace. Home was Charles asking if he could try the food I was eating, cooking or buying and then asking me where it came from, where I bought the ingredients or why I wanted to get it. Home was Yazan falling asleep in the back of Juan Carlos’ car no matter where we went and Jordan asking every single question that came to mind, no matter where we went. Home was Tseringla & Don Pablo constantly telling us to be careful, not to fight with one another and encouraging us to have fun by telling us stories from their lives. Home is Rocafuerte, Ligia, Carlos, Roberto and Nancy, all of whom absolutely carried us on this experience.

But now, how can someone leave this place they call home?

I think it will be something we figure out later, when homesickness hits and we all want to book a flight back to Urubamba. When we all realize that all we want is to be able to go back to the coliseum to play or watch basketball, or see our German friends at el garaje for another good time. Or to come home after Booms and throw a dance party in our kitchen or make really gross smores over a bonfire. I think when we start to remember the things we will miss most about our home, we begin to also understand how to move on and start a new chapter. We will understand the importance of our experience, the impact it has had on us, and begin to accept that while we might want to hold on to this forever, we have to let go. We must take what we can, but also keep it pushing. Because at the end of the day, all things go.

by Pablo, Civic Semester Participant

I will miss playing basketball with guys and girls my age here three times a week. It’s always a great way to end the day, practice Spanish, and compete with Yazan. Once, I pretended to be Urubambino (changing my last name to Quispe) so they would let me participate in their weekend tournament against other nearby cities.

Everything here is less expensive. We pay for food, moto taxis, clothes, and anything else we may need with soles, which are approximately one fourth the value of a dollar. Also, most festivals and celebrations are free in the plaza, and snacks are usually one sol.

I will miss the sense of purpose I have here. It’s a purpose that focuses on searching: we learn from unexpected experiences, from planned visits to organizations, and from the tops of mountains, where we can see the world, or at least Urubamba, differently.

Traveling with the group is one of the best parts of this whole experience. Juan Carlos, our driver, has a wonderfully contagious laugh that always makes our expeditions more enjoyable, especially when we’re tired, grumpy, and carsick. When we aren’t traveling, we love to go out to restaurants, bars, the plaza, bakeries, clubs…you name it.

I will miss the blasting music and late night dance parties in the kitchen. Jordan has always played salsa, and I’m sure our neighbors can hear Yazan singing in the shower. A recent pastime for us has been storm parties. When there’s lighting, rain, and the power is out, we congregate in the outdoor (but it has a roof) kitchen space to sing, dance, and drink tea.

The stars here are amazing. After around 10 pm most of the lights in the nearby area will go out, and one of the best spots in all of Urubamba to stargaze is in our garden (basically our front yard). Now and then I’ll go out there and spend a few hours with Fatima, even sometimes when it’s really cold.

I will miss my roommate. With Mathew, I have learned to share everything that is mine, aside from female dancing partners. Sometimes, we get into arguments that last a few days. Once, I was offered my own room but opted to resolve my issue with him because walking away didn’t seem like the answer. He is very admirable in the way he thinks and observes. We both push each other, talking late at night about difficult things or doing over 200 push-ups because we both are so competitive and later feeling sore because we did too much.

Pablo Moreno is filled with wisdom that he shares with us through his captivating stories and experiences. He also makes us grilled meat for dinner on special occasions, which we usually have by the bonfire. I know he is missing his wife and kids a lot. When he tells us he will miss us after the program ends, I think of Munay, the energy of love.

I will miss Tsering’s singing, thoughtfulness, and kind words. She’s always available, even in the middle of the night, and has adapted very well to the easy-going, spontaneous nature of our group. She also has played a really important role in making sure some of us were able to bond, not just as “buddies,” but through forming legitimate relationships: heart to heart. Huge thanks to both of our instructors for their dedication.

When I came here, I didn’t know how to wash my clothes by hand. Nancy, the person who keeps the house clean, taught me one day as I struggled for well over an hour to wash about five t-shirts and a couple pairs of socks. Nancy and I became good friends, and I often talk to her about culture, daily life, relationships, and aspirations. I will miss her.

by Yazan, Civic Semester Participant

Whenever I’m faced with a cup of tea, I am immediately transported to my childhood. I cannot seem to shake the many scoldings I had for my abnormal sugar intake. I would always scheme to find ways to sneak in a tablespoon or two, aside from the one I was already permitted. That ephemeral feeling of an explosion of taste, a racing heart, and the exhilarating inkling invoking in me the power to do anything was what I thrived to pursue. Until one day, I was met with my mother’s stern words that would promptly change my thought process, “Too much sugar is bitter; too much of anything is bitter.”

Now, more than 10 years, 12,562 kilometers, and three flights from home, I marvel at the wonderfully clear skies that happily dominate Peru with a cup of sugarless tea by my side and a life governed by those 5 words relayed to me as an 8 year old. I take my wisdom with me on our many journeys and visits to this foreign land, always keeping an eye on maintaining this sacred balance. But it wasn’t until shortly after that where I realized the infallible ideology, instilled in me, might be in fact imperfect. It all started off at one of our first organization visits, Sacred Valley Health, when we were met with several young and brave women from diverse backgrounds situated in Peru to spread awareness about rising health issues within the region. An impeccable mission statement, a group of women eager to make change, and an attentive group of naive students trying to take as much as they could––I was ecstatic. Blood gushing, pen in hand, and eyes fully locked in. 5 minutes into the presentation, they revealed the staggering statistic, “More than 40% of children in Peru suffer from anemia.” My stomach sank, but I persevered. 10 minutes into the presentation, they revealed the financial struggles and burdens of having to run a clinic with minimal funding and minimal workforce and solely a vision; my right hand relaxed and the pen that was once held intensely fell freely into my notebook. 15 minutes into the presentation, they revealed the lack of aid and support of the Peruvian government for their initiative, thus only aggravating the burden on their shoulders. The epiphany only hit me, as we dashed through the rugged roads of the Andes: Those 7 women are the backbone of spreading healthy and sanitary habits to combat systemic issues within their region despite the lack of funding, despite the increasing rates of the issues their facing, and despite the impediments set out by the government. “Too much,” I said in my head––I grew bitter.

The following week, we went on another organization visit and the cycle of the first was repeated. I felt like a victim of a Monet painting, bound to the chains of short lived devotion and infatuation and sentenced to eternal bitterness at the gruesomeness, injustice, and inequality of the world we live in: “Too much,” I said.  That feeling incubated for a few weeks until our most recent visit––The Llama Pack Project. An organization dedicated to restoring the Llama back to its Andean glory since its replacement by mules ever since the Spanish conquest. The natural cycle of its preceding organizations was not broken and inevitably we were left with more questions than answers; I grew bitter. However, during my conversation with the founder shortly after, she underscored the importance of remembering both the sweet and the bitter. She called out the government for their incompetence, she scorned the Spaniards and all their colonial remnants, but she also highlighted the impact they are having in resituating the Llama back into Andean communities. With all the bitterness came action. Not fleeting (sugar high) action, but raw and enduring action. Weirdly enough, I was taken back to my favorite show and the line, “The North Remembers”. And now I spur on by embracing the bitter rather than escaping it.

By allowing my stomach to sink, by permitting my heart to race, by remembering and eternalizing the “too muches” of the world and by allowing that naive kid to explore the consequences of dabbling into more sugar than he can take, I am ready to finally enact change.

I remember, the North Remembers and so should you.

PS: Mama I swear I am cutting down on sugar. This is all metaphorical <3

by Jordan, Civic Semester Participant

I’ve thought a lot about our trip to Machu Picchu. It truly was an amazing experience, something I am very grateful for. To be honest, I never would have seen myself in Perú in the future. And well, now I’m here.

First, some background. The name Machu Picchu actually has a meaning in the Quechua language. Quechua was the language of the Incas. In Quecha, “Picchu” means “montaña,” or in English, that would be mountain. “Machu” means “viejo” or old in English. Therefore, Machu Picchu means old mountain. The neighboring mountain, Huayna Picchu, means young mountain.

While I’m not actively learning Quechua, learning the significance of words is interesting. You hear it a lot down here. Our tour guide gave me a lot of new words to share. One thing I’ve always done while in Perú is writing down everything I learn everywhere we go to. Unfortunately, my water bottle exploded in my bag earlier in the day, and so that wasn’t a possibility. However, I was still able to thoroughly enjoy my time at Machu Picchu. It truly is magical. The misty fog surrounding the nearby mountains and sun, the grey stone ruins sitting between a ring of mountains. The Sun Gate, waiting for December 21 when the summer solstice arrives, and the sun comes perfectly in line. All of Machu Picchu shows the intentionality of the Incas. Not only with the Sun Gate. They carved rocks shaped like Condors. There are recreations of mountain landscapes. They even predicted natural disasters and built accordingly. All in all, it was quite the site to take in. Now it is a major tourist attraction. Surprisingly, this was my first time paying for the bathroom. Quite the shock! Furthermore, Machu Picchu is rapidly sinking due to all of the tourism, so I’m not sure how long it will be open to the public. And it is already much more limited than in the past. However, while there, I tried not to think about these things. It really was a “live in the moment” experience. From the surrounding clouds, breathing in the moist air, enjoying the view, and learning about Incan life in Machu Picchu, it really was a transformative experience that allowed me to imagine what it was like. As if it came alive again.

This is a memory I will never forget. I can’t wait to thank my parents when I go back home with a big hug, thanking them for all they have done for me growing up (Hi mom! I know you’re reading this!) I’m so happy and proud to be here today. In fact, I’ve fallen in love with Perú. I hope to come back and explore more that this beautiful country has to offer. Or maybe Perú is just the starting point. Maybe now I explore the rest of South America. Who knows. I have the rest of my life ahead of me.

by Cassie, Civic Semester Participant

Guinea Pig:

People here keep them at home not as pets but as food. In Tika they were bred in fences, and in Paru Paru they ran around the house specifically built for them. As a previous hamster owner I was once scared of eating them but then was truly impressed by how good they tasted—the smooth and tender texture was probably the best I had in my life. After my first try I would never, ever regard them as potential pets, but one of the most incredible meats in the world.

Fun fact: the fewer toes a guinea pig has, the better quality it is.

Tips: Eat by hand —Señor Pablo Moreno

Don’t forget to check out the newest homemade guinea pig feast with full of love by Señor Pablo Moreno in the album! I swear it’s not the rat by the fridge!

Grilled Chicken & Chimichurri & Tarí:

Grilled chicken restaurants called “Polleria” are ubiquitous in Urubamba, where most of the chickens are freshly grilled and go with fries, salad, and a variety of sauces—my favorite is named Chimichurri, the green sauce made from mainly parsley, garlic, oregano and olive oil. Another sauce good with chicken is Tarí. I couldn’t find much English information about the creamy yellowish sauce online but all I knew was someone called it “Peruvian pepper cream.” Hopefully I’ll be able to get them back in the US.

Continue reading “Food Tour Around Urubamba”

by Mathew, Civic Semester Participant

Friday morning, 23rd of September 2022, our bags were packed for Paru Paru, a rural community in the high altitudes of the Andes, around 4000 meters above sea level. Pablo Moreno, one of our instructors, had been to this place before, and he had experienced the freezing evenings and mornings at Paru Paru. “The place is super cold, there’s no internet, and it’s totally different from the city of Urubamba,” he said with certainty: a clear indication for us to load our bags with heavy clothes that will at least make us survive for the four days we would stay in Paru Paru. He made it clear that our stay will be full of activities which included planting potatoes, doing adobe and mingling with the Paru Paru community. What was really on my mind was potato farming. I have tried a potato project before in my home country, Kenya, but it was never successful due to the intense droughts in Northern Kenya. It was like hitting a dead end. Therefore, this was going to be a learning opportunity for me, I spent the whole night of Thursday visualizing, completely in a fantasy world. I remember telling my fellow civic semester scholars to at least have some clothes that they don’t mind dirtying because farming will require us to make our hands useful in the field. 

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My spirits were high as we departed the Sacred Valley, Urubamba, a small city with sprouting red iron sheets buildings, and drove off up the Andes hills heading to Paru Paru. I had AirPods on my ears and eyes wide open to spot and admire every plant, animal and landscape we passed by. The mountain slopes were yellowish, and due to the sun rays and their reflection by the bright stones in the hillsides, the grass was blended orange with green scattered trees and small rivers that moved down the hills to the Sacred Valley. The road was snake-shaped up the mountains which made the route long and gave us more time to keep exploring and taking pictures for our memories.

Continue reading “Samburu in Latin America”