I Think I Just Met God and She’s an Elderly, Ecuadorian Woman

By Darby, Tufts 1+4 Participant

Surrounded by churches and cathedrals, blue domed, white trim, ornate gold detailing, pastel colored statues of the saints, in Cuenca you can’t help but think of God. Whoever or whatever that may be. A man? A woman? I’m not entirely sure. I don’t think I ever have been. I know what I’ve been taught and what I’ve been told. But I don’t know what I believe.

I was baptized as a Christian before I could speak or even think and a confirmed Catholic since 2014. However, in recent years I’ve been distancing myself from the Church and its potentially dangerous rhetoric regarding the rights of women and those who identify as LGBTQ+. Arriving in Cuenca reminded me why I felt called to Catholicism in the first place.

It was our first day here. A Monday. A few of us decided to leave the hostel to get some fresh air when we stumbled across the many churches, essentially one on every corner, that Cuenca has to offer. But we only actually stepped foot inside the last church we saw, Santuario Mariano del Carmen de la Asunción. It’s situated in La Plaza de las Flores, across the street and overshadowed by La Catedral de la Inmaculada Concepción.

On that slow and hazy Monday morning, as I was kneeling below the pew, I could hear the faint sound of the parishioners singing, praising. Maybe it was a choir? I was very far back in the church, not wanting to disturb what was happening before my eyes, almost like a museum exhibit or ballet performance, taking it all in as quietly as possible. I could feel the the powerful, looming notes and phrases bouncing, vibrating, echoing off the walls. I made the sign of the cross, the father, the son, the holy spirit and prayed.

I prayed mostly for myself, as selfish as that seems. The exact opposite of what God calls us, encourages us to do. And as much as I hate to admit it, I needed help and I didn’t know who else to ask. Since landing in Quito, my first time out of the United States, I felt like my world had been turned upside down and I couldn’t get a grip. I prayed for the ability to make it through the next second, minute, hour, day, week, month. To have patience with myself and with others. To have courage and be kind.

Right as I said, “Amen,” under my breath, an elderly woman approached me. She gingerly reached out her hand to me, sliding it softly against the wooden church bench. Still kneeling, in her short stature, she was eye level with me. I was hesitant to embrace her. Possibly a larger metaphor for my apprehension about living in a foreign city, miles away from all I’ve ever known.

Her hands were wrinkled and peppered with age spots. Signs of her life lived. She wore a gold ring, a plain wedding band of sorts. And she had something covering her hair. A short black veil? She said something to me in Spanish that I couldn’t fully grasp the meaning of, but be assured that I was hanging onto every word. She was beaming with a maternal pride. I knew she was glad I was here. It was the first time I felt welcomed in Cuenca.

It was our religion, albeit varying in degrees of commitment and devotion, that united us. The motion of my kneeling, praying, signing the cross, it said more to her than I could ever convey in a sentence, let alone in Spanish. Maybe it’s by the grace of God, my strength and determination, or sheer luck. Who knows? All I know is that so far my prayers have been answered. And that is the most comforting fact of all. That someone or something is listening and for the first time in a long time, I am being heard.

A Life in Condensed Milk

By Roger, Tufts 1+4 Participant

Brazilian food, in all its decadence, is often accompanied by dessert(s) made with Leite Condensado, or its boiled derivative Doce de Leite. The gum-numbingly sweet, slow-flowing white syrup is present in cakes, chocolate puddings, tarts, and just about everything else one could dream up. The postprandial sugar-induced torpor leaves me dazed and feeling as though I’m swimming in the stuff itself, which, accompanied by the often laxer Brazilian sense of time, makes the hours move slowly and gives life a dreamlike sort of feeling. Indeed, the sense of time here can leave and has often left me in a sort of lax daze as I wander through sunny streets that flow together like some great jungle-gym and take more food as it is offered, which it will be until the pan is clean. This feeling only wears off once I realize that time really is still moving normally for everyone else, and I’ve been astonished more than a few times as I’ve checked my watch and seen how the hours have dripped by.

So what to do? Does one try to “stay vigilant” against the sweet tide, attempt to keep a clear head, and not succumb to decadence? Or is this an example of ignorance, of cultural rejection? It is very true that utterly shunning condensed milk, both as a desert and a lifestyle, will not a happy year in Brazil make. But overindulging is an equally fatal tourist trap, and with dozens of grams of sugar per spoonful, it’s hard not to slip closer to utter depravity with each bite, with each day. Should I, or should I not, join the Lotus-Eaters in their dreamy Brazil days? On the one hand, I might lose parts of myself in the sea of creamy sweetness forever-but isn’t that what I’m here for? Still, my greatest fear is leaving this year with little more than a goofy smile to present as a result. This, in combination with the ever-present temptation to sip condensed milk and let the hours pass has resulted in adversity that I haven’t expected. The Brazilians themselves are not a lazy people, by any means. They alone seem to be immune to the sweet allure of seeming-endless hours and plates of sweets, and manage to work all the harder for it. Those who cometo Brazil, however, may find iteasy to suck the spoon and not take it back out.

My best solution is to lash myself, like Odysseus to the mast, to something that will keep me grounded among the drippy, easy hours that are so easy to eat and lose without being satisfied. Yes, laze in a hammock for all the hours of the day-just read a book while you do it, and finish it by the end of the week. Yes, spend that little bit of extra money on another Uber ride to save time-just make sure you save a little, for the end-of-the-month account. Yes, take a third portion of condensed-milk cake-just make sure you take an extra-long walk on the sand the next day. A little bit, a smaller bite, and by the end of my aventura doce, I might have something to show for it.

Farms & Stuff

by Yong Quan, Tufts Civic Semester Participant

Coming from a country where 90% of its food is imported and the agriculture industry is almost non-existent (although there’s a growing movement now!), working in a farm always seemed like the most far-off thing I could do growing up. The hard conditions, the heat of the sun, getting your hands dirty “just to see plants grow” sounded a little mundane and the idea of it felt disconnected from my technologically advanced city back in Singapore.

(Of course, my attitudes towards these things changed during my time in the army; the physicality of hard work is one of my favorite feelings now)

In Peru, however, my first choice for my internship placement was with Eco-Huella (EH), a farm based in Calca. On the first day, Jason and I met up with siblings Julio and Jessica, who would be our bosses for the next 3 months. Though the daily activities of farming were very much a part of Eco-Huella, we also did other things: learning about local specialized plants that cleaned chromium and lead from the river, building greenhouses for higher altitude communities to expand their possible agriculture & food options, learning about different methods of farming & creating composts (e.g. EH uses Bokatchi/Bokashi, a Japanese method, to create their compost), hosting other local initiatives (e.g. Las Verdes from Lima) that came over to cross-share information about sustainability in Peru, welcoming short-term volunteers/students who learnt about the farm’s sustainability model or helped with building it’s walls. Recently even, we were very glad to collaborate with Jessica to evaluate EH’s model of sustainability by drawing up maps and taking stock of the farming equipment we have, to ensure that their resources are used with sustainability in mind, and to keep track of the plants’ growth.

Initially, all these activities seem minute. They are, if you fail to consider the people behind them, and their stories. The Nina siblings believe that sustainability is important, and they are part of Andean Alliance (a US organization that promotes collaboration between farmers and the government to promote their livelihoods), as well as the growing movement against climate change. They also believe that the sharing of ideas is important, and in that endeavour, they are very open about receiving other and providing their own inputs. I was surprised during the first few days of work when Jessi mentioned learning about ‘vertical agriculture’, a common method of growing food in land-scarce Singapore, and how that innovative enterprise is the sort of spirit that EH is trying to build up; with that conversation, I knew that Eco-Huella was the place for me.

But let’s pull back for a moment. How did I end up in farming? Wasn’t I (excuse my pigeonholing) not a farming person? Well, it all started with how Eco-Huella was described to me (as well as Jason’s infectious passion for physical work): EH was a place where they were fighting for social change, against climate change and were a group of very passionate farmers. It was clear from how the instructors mentioned them that the people of EH had a thirst for adventure (and experimenting, which is why I sometimes reference the farm as a laboratory), and a pursuit for change based on collaboration and hard work. While I guess you could find people with these attributes anywhere if you look hard enough, there’s something about unfamiliarity that brings people together in unique ways because unfamiliarity demands initiative and trial & error. As Julio once said: “There are no problems, only opportunities”, and that spirit of courage and innovation is the driving factor for the farm (and our daily ventures under the heat of Calca’s weather).

In my journey, I hope to learn that we are both connected to our food sources and detached in our awareness of them in ways profound and intimate enough that the seriousness of the issues posed by climate change and pollution are both urgent and invisible to us. And while the rest of the world has much area for improvement, I’m hopeful that it’s better off with the minds and hearts behind the people in Eco-Huella.

Originally posted here.

Getting Lost

by Austen, Tufts Civic Semester Participant

To put it mildly, I’m not the best with directions.

One of my biggest worries about spending three months in Urubamba was spending three months without the assistance of Google Maps, which has always been my guiding light, whether I’m driving somewhere new or walking around my own neighborhood. As someone who had to use a GPS during the drive to school every morning sophomore year (it was about three turns away), this was a legitimate concern. Walking solo to Spanish class, or to my favorite cafe (Antojitos obviously), or to the gardens where I work seemed like an impossible feat.

Thankfully, a few weeks in I found my compass; the central market. It’s one of my favorite places, and it’s always easy to find. It sprawls out over about two square blocks, is characteristically noisy, and everyone in the city can point you to where it is. If I know where I am in relation to the market, I can find almost anything else. And even better – because I go there so often, I can find everything inside the market! It’s great.

This spectacular plan failed about a week ago. Last Thursday, it was announced that the big indoor market was going to be closed for cleaning, much to the dismay of both the women working there and the people in my group. We took one last trip to the market to stock up, assuming that we wouldn’t have access to life-saving staples like yuca sticks and chocolate covered raisins during the upcoming weekend. The next morning, I made a trip past where the market was – and for the first time in weeks, found myself utterly lost.

All of the streets surrounding the market had been closed off to make way for a hundred vendors, selling fruits, vegetables, meats, and our beloved snacks beneath the bright blue shade of their tarps and umbrellas. The women of the market had single-handedly turned their city into something unrecognizable. Once I entered, the effect was both beautiful and disorienting. The sky was completely blocked out, pieces of the city only visible through chinks in the plastic armor valiantly protecting produce from the sun and heat. All of the market stands were in an unfamiliar order (to my dismay), and everything was washed in a watery glow. It was impossible to see what was at the end of each blue corridor until I was just a few feet away. All in all, it was otherworldly and stunning and very, very unhelpful for someone with my gift of navigation.

After several minutes of struggling to exit the maze I had unwittingly trapped myself in, I eventually made it to the Plaza de Armas, feeling like I’d just solved a particularly grueling sudoku puzzle. Of course, I had to brave those uncharted waters again the next evening; I spent approximately four hours hunting for strawberries. Little by little, however, a mental map of my surroundings began to emerge. The fruit vendors were on Huascar street, the grains were parallel to the meats, chocolate quinoa could be found on a little offshoot. By day three, I had a brand new compass.

Sensing this, the outdoor market disappeared the next day. I was both relieved and disappointed.

Being in Peru has been an exercise in adapting to change; change in language, diet, environment, and culture. Even during the time we’ve been in-country, we’re constantly relocating, getting to experience life in touristic cities like Aguas Calientes as well as rural mountainous towns like Cancha Cancha and Paru Paru. At times, it’s felt more than a little disorienting. There’s not a map available to show us the best ways to spend our time, help our internships, or even find our way through the market. Even if there were, as my many lost hours searching for strawberries have proved, routes in Urubamba are always unpredictable and changing. We have to figure things out the old fashioned way, by stumbling around until we find our way through them.

As much as I miss the security of Google Maps and a predictable schedule, I’m certain that I’ve gained more than I’ve lost through the past few months of trial and error. I still may not be able to find my way out of a paper bag, but I understand more about how to deal with uncertainty, and I have more faith in my ability to navigate unfamiliar territory (both literally and metaphorically). I’ll keep my GPS, though, just in case.

Originally posted here.

Wow, I’m lucky.

by Ann Yancey, Tufts Civic Semester Participant

I am truly in love with Peru. As much as I miss the comforts of having parents to come home to that understand without me having to explain, being able to take a car to the grocery store, coming home to my own bed at night, and getting to see my sister’s face every day, I’m already dreading saying goodbye to this place and the people that make it so special. However, I have my host-family and the women at Tika (my placement) to thank for making this place feel like home.

Thus far during my time at Tika, I’ve brought new ideas to the organization; however, I’ve undoubtedly received more from working alongside Guadalupe, Mari, Maribel, and Rosi than I could possibly give. In a tangible sense, I’ve learned how to weave (a little bit), and the small amount that I’ve improved is due only to my inability to retain the process, rather than a lack of hours that the women at Tika have dedicated to teaching me. From a philosophical perspective, I’m learning that being hardworking while remaining flexible and relaxed is possible. I struggle to balance work and relationships but the women at Tika always take time in their busy days to sit, talk, laugh, and share a meal together. Furthermore, I’ve learned how to be genuinely hospitable, making guests from any place feel welcome and treating strangers with love and compassion. One day, when a family of tourists from Germany came into the store, sick with food poisoning, Guadalupe forewent her usual demonstration so that she could prepare a medicinal tea for the customers and give them head massages that they swore healed them. In addition, my coworkers have effortlessly shown me how to care about understanding a person for who they are, rather than where or what they come from. From my first day my coworkers were eager to teach me about their histories and weaving processes, so I would feel like part of the family. They engaged me in conversations, asking me about my opinions and experiences here. However, they didn’t ask me about my biological family or life in the U.S. until they got to know me as a person. With time, they showed interest in my life at home, but it felt nice to first be understood in an individual way. Finally, Guadalupe, Mari, Maribel and Rosi are the most generous people that I have ever known. They have a passion for teaching and sharing with others, yet they never expect anything in return. I won’t try to begin describing the countless cultural experiences that these women have shared with me.

In terms of what I’ve been able to return to the women at Tika, I’ve established an inventory system using an Excel spreadsheet to make this collection system easier and more sustainable for future use – given that taking inventory by hand monthly is too time-consuming for the busy lives that the women at Tika lead. Furthermore, I’ve begun making a website for the business, on which I’ll post photos that I take of the women and my Tufts peers this weekend; I think my coworkers are really excited for this, as it will provide publicity for their business. Finally, I hope to create price tags for the items at Tika, to dissuade customers from bargaining, because the products are already very fairly priced. However, when I think of what I’ve given and received during my time at Tika, the contrast in the value of these things is obvious. While the contributions I’ve made are useful for the company, they’re all material. In contrast, I’ve received lifelong lessons from my coworkers. Accepting the reality that I’m the true beneficiary in this situation, I can only hope that genuine reciprocity will result from the friendships that my coworkers and I have developed.

Each day that I have the opportunity to work alongside these incredible women at Tika, our relationships grow, and the amount of time that we spend laughing increases. Over time, the trust that I’ve developed with my coworkers has led me to open up about some of my most vulnerable personal struggles, which for the first time in my life, I’ve found shockingly easy to share. Mari has a unique ability to empathize and make one feel loved without saying a word;  Maribel effortlessly makes me feel completely understood before I even open my mouth to express myself or share an experience. Guadalupe and Rosi have a contagious laughter that makes those around them feel instantly comfortable and included, and they never pass up an opportunity to initiate a good, shared laugh. In return, my coworkers (and trusted friends) have been generous in sharing their own challenging pasts; yet in spite of each of the difficulties that they’ve faced, they are such joyous, appreciative, selfless people.

If I could go back and thank my past self for deciding to press the “send” button on that email to Jessye and Mindy that confirmed my decision to participate in this program, I would – a million times over. Again, I am truly in love with Peru, and I simply cannot think about saying goodbye to this place and these people; I’m already planning out a return visit here – maybe even as a temporary place of residence. While I have loved every hike that we’ve taken as a group, and I wouldn’t trade the incredible daily views that come with living in the Sacred Valley, it is truly the people that make this place so special; I especially have Guadalupe, Rosi, Maribel, and Mari to thank.

Originally posted here.

I’ve Got 99 Problems and a Problem Ain’t One

by Jason, Tufts Civic Semester Participant

When I asked Julio what problems existed on the farm he answered with a simple “we don’t have problems, only opportunities”. The journey of my internship, and any internship, is to create space for future opportunities for yourself. Working with experts and finding mentors develops knowledge and passion for any given field. In my case, I am here to directly learn from Eco-Huella and the Nina siblings themselves. I aim to develop my knowledge and skills in the field of sustainable agriculture, but there is another purpose of my presence here: sharing my perspective. I did not realize this until I was given permission to realize it, when Raquel (our Dragons instructor) visited my placement and facilitated a discussion with Julio regarding our goals and his expectations. Julio said something along the lines of “I want you to start sharing your opinion more, because I value every outside perspective I can get”. I felt surprised, because I thought I had so much more to learn before my perspective became valuable. I thought that my work ethic was the only thing I had to offer. Now, in fact immediately after he said that, I was more encouraged to even just ask questions. I had permission to be less polite and more inquisitive, which he values. So will the farm.

Over the course of the last three weeks I have gotten more comfortable with Eco-Huella. More specifically (and importantly), I have developed bonds with my co-workers. Manuel and I debate the pros and cons of Nuclear energy and the best path forward to fight climate change; Yoel and I share jokes and nick-names and many hours in the invernadero (greenhouse) pulling weeds and planting seeds; and Jessye Nina (Julio’s sister) has become a caring mentor to Yong Quan and I both. This means that going to work is less about watching and listening closely as they show us what to do and when to do it and more about trying to understand the deeper operations of the farm (understanding why they do things).

When I asked Julio what sort of problems he had, I asked the wrong question. To a man like him, that question immediately puts things in a negative context. Instead, I have learned to ask about what is difficult (i.e. an obstacle that will be overcome). Today I asked Jessye this question while we ate at Nuna Raymi, the upscale restaurant in Cusco at which all of the vegetables are supplied by Eco-Huella (yes I remember picking those exact leaves of lechuga). She answered in a serious manner, explaining the difficulty in keeping track of how much they were producing and planting, and that the ordering system (by restaurants) could be drastically improved from what it is now (a simple list sent via Whatsapp). It began to pour out of her, and I could tell that this was something she thought about every single day.

Again, these are opportunities. “Maybe”, I found myself thinking, “I could help with this”. In this manner I have started to find a balance between learning and sharing my perspective productively. It’s satisfying. Allow me to clarify: I still believe my primary purpose is to learn and improve myself, because they would do fine without me, but now I feel like more of a part of the team and that means that this internship now feels like a real job. One that I’m motivated and excited to produce for. And so I am immersed in Julio’s world of opportunities. My co-workers are, and always will be, my guides.

Originally posted here.