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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
