Month: September 2019

by Olympia, Tufts Civic Semester Participant

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The very first line of interaction between me and Narda, my host mother, was not exchanging names and hometowns but rather a comment on the style of my hair. Flavio, my host brother, was trodding along to my side as we walked up Sucre towards the house. The streets of Urubamba were busy, especially as we neared the market. A woman advertised her cart of Chicha while her daughter snacked on a pack of Casinos, but I didn’t really pay much attention as I was riddled with anxiety and anticipation to see where I would be spending the next three months.

“Mira a tu pelo, que bonita!” Narda exclaimed pointing to my scalp.

“Ya, puedo tocarlo?” Flavio begged.

When I reached down to let Flavio, my eight year host brother, feel my braids for the very first time, I had yet to realize that my hair duo would garner so much attention for the following three weeks. As we sat at the dinner table that night, Narda’s colleague had asked how long it took to complete my braids. After admitting that it took about 6 or 7 hours, she hammered on with fascination, asking more questions about the processes and characteristics of my natural hair. All complicated questions that I fumbled to answer with my limited expertise of Spanish. It was difficult enough trying to explain braids to someone in the States, yet there I was giving a detailed lesson about black hair on my very first night with my host family. I was not as much overwhelmed, as I was confused by why anyone was so interested in the first place. Narda later explained that my style of hair was really uncommon and that you were most likely to find someone with braids in Lima. What she also meant was that there wasn’t very many people who looked like me in Urubamba. This became abundantly clear after making several trips around the city. Men would stare. Women would smile and nod. Every now and then, young girls would point and ask questions about my braids. Sometime during my second week as I was passing a Botica, a little boy grinned and pointed so urgently at me, shouting for his mother to look before I had passed. Another time, I was on my way to Spanish class when I had noticed that I was being followed by a group of preteen girls who had tracked me down only to give a quick compliment and go off on their way. Though being the minority in any given place never really phased me, I realized that my appearance would surely shape my experience throughout the next three months. Towards the end of the night as we sipped on Mate, we moved on to talk about the school system in Urubamba and the upcoming parade in Plaza De Armas. I breathed a sign of relief to have the attention not be on me. However, the night was only brought to a close after I had promised to reveal my natural hair to everyone, whenever it was that I decided to take out my braids later in the month.

Today was that day. My extensions were getting old and my natural hair was peaking out on my scalp, so I announced that I was most definitely going to take out my hair this afternoon. As Sundays are dedicated to family time, I had usually spent my Sundays making trips with Narda to the market, playing escondidas with Flavio, or having a movie night. This Sunday was going to be different. As I had to explain that morning over breakfast, the process of removing braids was a long, exhausting one.

“Cuanto tiempo?” Abuelita asked.

“Para mi, cuatro o cinco horas,” I answered.

Everyone shook their heads in bewilderment. I was not looking forward to taking my braids out whatsoever. But I was excited to share apart of myself with my host family. Though I had Monday free, I had specifically chosen this Sunday so that everyone would be home to observe. I had started promptly at 10 am. Every now and then, Narda would come in my room to check on my progress and ask questions. She would repeatedly ask if I needed any help or simply watch attentively in silence. Around lunch, her brother had arrived to visit and see Narda’s new apartment. By the end of their apartment tour, they had stopped at my doorway and I got the chance to introduce myself. It was never my intention for my first interaction with Narda’s sibling to be with half a head of braids and half a natural updo, but I took the opportunity to share about the strenuous process with someone new. Similar to the rest of the family, he seemed shocked by the length but gave a nod of encouragement for the 3 hours I had left. Later on the in afternoon, Flavio popped in to share a celebratory dance for the appearance of my natural hair. By the time I was finished, it was 4 pm. I decided to rest before dinner and give my sore fingers and  back a break. That night at dinner, I had debuted my natural hair and received an abundance of love and kindness. After an hour full of chatting and feasting, we closed dinner and Narda had told me that having a feature so unique was truly beautiful. In that moment, she made me feel special though I was doing nothing other than being myself.

Throughout my whole life in the States, I had never received as much kindness surrounding my braids as I did in the three weeks that I had been in Peru. It is always a little bit overwhelming and intimidating to feel eyes on me as I walked from place to place, but it feels rewarding to share a piece of myself with my family (or sometimes random people on the street). What I see in the people I have come encounter with is genuine curiosity and  an intent to learn. I feel kindness rather than judgement. Though my hair is what gives me an entryway to teach about myself, I would like to share other parts who I am and where I come from with others as well. I don’t want my braids to be the endpoint, and I’m confident that it won’t be.

During orientation in Huaran, my group was instructed to write from the viewpoint that the semester had ended so that we can identify any goals that we had never really recognized. In my journal entry, I had written that I wanted to make the effort to connect with my host family through sharing. I yearned to give them something in return for caring for me for three months. I wrote that I wished to share a variety of things that signify by Nigerian-Jamaican-American background: my jerk chicken, my cocoa butter, my Cantu, my jollof rice, my Marley, my love for family, and my braids. I am proud to have checked something off the list, and I look forward to checking off many more.

Originally posted here.

By Chiamaka, Tufts Civic Semester Participant

Deja vu is a real thing. However, is deja vu in another country realistic? You may know it as a “motor taxi” but I know it as “keke na pepe.” I never thought I would see it again until one hot afternoon on September 1st 2019 – I experienced deja vu in Peru.

It rode right past me and I gazed as if it was the first time I had seen “keke na pepe” again. The last time I had entered one was in Nigeria when I was just 10 years old. I never thought that a country 9,479 km away from my hometown could remind me so much of it and bring back a little part of my Nigerian identity.

When I was 10 years old, my mom, little brother, and I would normally take a “keke na pepe” almost every Sunday in order to get to church. In Peru, I entered one for the first time in on an afternoon when I was returning from my internship. Immediately, a flash of memories, and a feeling of deja vu took over me. I heard my mother’s voice again, taking me back to my 10 year old self. I could hear her say “Chiamaka ri da ta motor a hu” which means “Chiamaka get down from that vehicle.” I could see when she paid the driver, I could hear her laughter and see my little brother as an 8 year old child. For the first time in 6 years – something, one thing, a vehicle reminded me of my hometown.

I have always pondered whether Peru is my home. I have come to the conclusion that it is different – they speak Spanish not Igbo and English, they wear different clothes, they have different traditions that are not similar to mine. However, I and Peru both have “keke na pepe” also known as “motor taxis.” I and Peru both have a rowdy market, I and Peru both have a culture, I and Peru both have a language, I and Peru both have a sense of appreciation for our identities.

Even though I live in Cleveland, Ohio now, I feel a sense of home here in Peru because I may not have my family, may get homesick every now and then. However, I have everything else that makes me believe “Yes, this is where I should be.”

by Yong Quan, Tufts Civic Semester Participant

I stood in the freezing cold, as the grass rustled tentatively beneath my feet.  It’s 11pm, and I peered up into the night sky, expecting darkness. Instead, I was greeted by the stars, glistening in their brilliance and filling up the atmosphere. Then, amidst the speckled sky, a shooting star appears, shimmering and fading in the same moment. I bask in the moment, and think to myself: “I’m not in Singapore anymore, am I?”

Living 18601 kilometers (or 11558 miles; that’s almost halfway around the world) away from home is undoubtedly a rare experience in my life, and is one that I’m still coming to terms to. In Peru, it feels like I’ve exchanged familiarity for adventure, my daily Bee Hoon with Egg for Sopa de Verduras y Pollo, my Singlish for Spanish, my gardens for mountains and my family for a Peruvian one.  Within my group, I catch myself fumbling to switch from British English to American English, and attempting to understand the culture of a continent that has faced its own challenges for centuries, while reorienting myself within a totally different and new community. From personal possessions to lifestyles, these changes become indicators of my presence in Peru and consequently, my absence from home in Singapore.

Yet, upon the beginning of my 3rd week here, I have begun to discover myself from a different perspective. My favorite view (besides the Incan archeological sites and the mountains) is always moving: the 7:30am autobus ride to Calca where my internship placement is located in provides me a unique view of local agriculture, and how buildings are built with Adobe bricks (made of dried clay and straw). As I munch on breakfast, I pass by Catarata Arin (a waterfall in the town of Huaran) and am pertinently aware of the Sacred Valley’s towering heights and how it flanks me on both sides constantly throughout my journey, as the journey ahead seems like it opens up while the road behind looks like it’s being devoured by the mountains. Each new workday offers a visual invitation to embrace the unknown.

In my internship placement, I am sometimes confused by the intricacies of planting and harvesting (coming from a country with an almost nonexistent agricultural industry), as I prepare the soil for new seeds, harvest vegetables, and bond with my new found friends in Eco-Huella Farm. Nonetheless, I lose myself within the work, with every stab of the shovel and pull of the rake, I get closer to learning about Incan irrigation systems, how altitude affects everything, and the philosophy behind Quechua agriculture. In Peru, there are no difficulties, only opportunities to learn and, in time, to serve.

In my new home in Urubamba, I (try to) speak exclusively Spanish, stuttering and muttering as I think about how to translate from English to my new language, while hoping that I don’t end up breaking the flow of the conversation. I hope that my Spanish will improve such that I don’t need to hold onto my phone and open up SpanishDict, but till then, I grit my teeth and continue onwards, hoping to have the audacity to try and the discretion to appreciate the opportunity that has been given to me.

The incessant internal comparisons of the constants and the differences of life will continue. However, in retrospect, an exchange of the familiar for the different sounds like a compromise. As I’ll be here for 3 months, it feels less like compromise, and more like accumulation & assimilation. The idea that I may speak with a different accent (and even in a different tongue), but my eyes light up equally whether I see shades of white & red (my national colors) in the bracelets made by the local weaving collectives or the waterfalls and mountains in the region. That my heart feels a little warmer when the gardens in my farming internship remind me of the ones I have back at home. That I feel a rush of adrenaline on hikes, because being close to the earth and air and wind remind me of my time in the army when creature comforts were not as near, but the opportunities for self-discovery are.

I guess ‘Home’ will always be Singapore, but the idea of what constitutes as home is fluid & always changing for me. And while Bee Hoon with Egg will always have a special place in my stomach, so might Sopa de Verduras y Pollo.

Originally posted here.

By Yujie “Claire”, Tufts Civic Semester Participant

I have always had a fascination for stars. My dad, the very person who brought me into the early business of watching stars, owns a small telescope that he uses weekly till this day. Living in a compound full of apartments and not many gardens, my dad and I didn’t have many options to position the telescope in an open space; we later climbed all the way up to the top of our apartment, which is the 18th floor, and settled down our “unusual” hobby on this empty roof.

Before using the telescope, my dad would ask me to identify a few stars on a phone app called “Star Chart.” If I raise the cellphone and align its position to the direction of a star, “Star Chart” will identify its name and history. Oddly enough, Shenzhen is not known for a heavily-polluted city, but most stars are still barely visible. However, one star, located vertically above us, persists to shine at all times regardless of possible obstruction from thick clouds or thunderstorms. I later learned that this star is called “Arcturus.” “Arcturus never goes away. If you find Arcturus, you find your way of life.” My dad said.

Almost a week ago, I experienced my first chilly evening in the beautiful town of Huarán, Peru. When I left La Sala and headed toward the dining room, I looked up and was amazed to see a skyful of stars of diverse luminance and sizes. I pulled out my cellphone, installed the newest version of “Star Chart,” and raised the cellphone directly above my head. Shockingly, instead of seeing the label “Arcturus” on the star straightly on top, I found “Jupiter” claiming its rightful place.

All of a sudden, the realization that I am no longer in the northern hemisphere struck me hard to the core: Arcturus is no longer directly above me at night; instead, I set my feet onto the earth that temporarily erases its existence at that very moment. Everything is suddenly upside-down; everything is suddenly different from what I have experienced in my last 19 years in the northern hemisphere. All of a sudden, I was overwhelmed with a mixed feeling of amazement and uncertainty: How should I redefine my way of life now if Arcturus, the star that I have long kept in heart since childhood, cannot be seen or felt anymore?

My dad was partially right about his personalized theory of Arcturus, but not correct in its entirety: I once succeeded a quite fulfilling way of life, but one that may not be sustainable in the long run. Arcturus once filled my childhood with unforgettable memories, but I have already started a new phase of life as an adult. Maybe this is why Jupiter has emerged to replace Arcturus; maybe this is what coming to Peru, a country in the southern hemisphere, is all about: the exploration of a sustainable and exciting way of life under the guidance of a new cosmic power. Keeping that Arcturus part of me as an invaluable documentation of my past, I look forward to seeing how the future three months will change the course of my life and instill me with a new sense of purpose.

Originally posted here.