South American Salsa: Shadow Puzzles and Incan Relics

So many thoughts, none of them fully formed. I can feel these shadows clashing, bouncing apart, and chinking together, like magnetized puzzle pieces desperate to find an opposite charge. How do I meld them?


I wander through the glass-walled displays, 800-year-old ponchos and gold llama diadems and squat, crazy-eyed idols arranged in tapestry of history. Our guide’s explanations weave together the ancient pre-Incan legends that I’ve read in Peruvian Literature. This culture, relics of which live on in the nooks of the Andés and isolated Amazonia, fascinates me. Perhaps because of the missionary biographies that have been a steady part of my literary diet since childhood. Perhaps because it’s where I pictured myself as a girl- lost in some jungle or desert region with a tribe no one had ever contacted before. Perhaps because no matter how much I study, I will always have more to learn.

Protests against foreign mining projects in Cajamarca, Peru.
Photo from culanth.org

The whirling shadow thoughts suddenly spin into perspective.

Indigenous peoples have been fighting for the freedom to occupy their homelands and preserve their culture for centuries. They have taken the brunt of injustice, violence, and prejudice in exhaustingly repetitive manner. Targeted for systematic destruction in every former European colony in the Americas, it is a miracle (literally God’s protection) that any remnant of their race or culture survive. Now they are being heard by the world, presenting a combined rhetoric of indigenous rights, environmental protection, and human and minority rights. Prejudices are finally being written out of law. Indigenous peoples are being recognized as exactly that- people, complete with souls, power, and a voice. I love it.

Ruins of the Mayan culture outside Palenque, Chiapas, Mexico.

But yet . . .

Many want special rights to land or autonomy based upon their ethnicity. Is that just for society at large? They want their culture to be protected, guarded, untouched. Yet no one is forcing them to have TVs in their homes. A deep attachment and appreciation for their ancestors’ traditions and lifestyle also keeps them in the poverty that they rail against. Many hate being excluded or marginalized in society at large, yet their own community-oriented culture has very clear insiders and outsiders. The past should not have happened the way it did. Yet, continual rehashing of past victimization can cease to be legitimate and begin to be manipulation, particularly in countries like Bolivia or Ecuador where indigenous parties have the power to topple presidencies. Do they want reconciliation? Should they?

The contradictions leave me frustrated. Torn between fascination, empathy, and a desire to see all people treated fairly. Knowing that forgiveness can heal prejudice and pain. Knowing from personal experience that human nature clings ardently to pain and bitterness because it feels safer than forgiveness.

Images flash before my mind’s eye. Washing my face in a stream in San Cristobal, pretending not to observe the highland women in their bright skirts and braids and Tzotzil chattering. Guatemalan villages tucked away in folded shores of Lake Atitlan. Rigoberta Menchú’s story, which has brought this inner conflict to the surface again. Hakani. The anger at those who extort ignorance in the packing plants of Maneadero and in the maquiladoras of Juárez. My friend, Roxana, who keeps house for the family I live with in Lima. The poignant photos of indigenous groups betrayed and caught in the crossfire of the Peruvian civil war. My own perhaps selfish frustration of being lumped into the same group as the conquistadors because of my race, whose actions I pray I would not have taken part in. The conclusion that each ethnicity and each person has played the role of both victimizer and victim at some point.

But where the heck does that leave us?

Broken, selfish, hurting- human.

Perhaps in need of divine intervention. Scratch that- definitely in need of a just, compassionate, impartial God. One whose heart delights in myriad cultures, but whose Truth transcends them. A God who extends grace and asks us to do the same. Who requires a surrender of control and of self and offers unconditional love in return. A King who broke social norms and spent his time with the marginalized, and then forgave his killers with his dying breaths. A God who rose with the right to say, “I’ve lived it. I get it. I’ve overcome it.” A living, active, engaged God who whispers, “Follow me.”

What if we actually did?

South American Salsa: Wrought Iron and Sunshine

Black wrought iron curls against a brick red apartment building, roses and lily-like flowers peeking standing in clear relief. I take a deep breath, shift my bag of snack food, yogurt, and chocolate to the other hand, and resist the urge to wiggle my shoulders in the delightful energy of the late afternoon sunshine. This has always been my favorite time of day, when light bathes buildings yellow, the breeze hints of nighttime cool, and humanity shrugs off a long day and anticipates sunset.

Ashley, Chelsie, and I adventure off the beach
Maybe a little more of an adventure than we
expected :)

My bright pink shoulders have finally turned a milky gold. Somehow, I managed to escape reburning at the beach yesterday, a tiny miracle compared to the crashing waves and hot sand. Images of yesterday’s adventures flash in quick succession. Walking way too far in search of a sandy beach amidst jewel colored, ocean smoothed rocks. The desperate, stupid decision to hail a cab instead of call one. A nerve-wracking ride through the cracking buildings and hair-raising traffic to an unknown destination. Relief when the beach actually existed and bonus, had sand. The oasis of green, mosaic, watery, vendor-filled park after a day in the sun. Chilling with Ashley and Chelsie in a cool house with peaceful pictures. Navigating a new combi route, squished between strangers. The apartment where I live, the one with black iron art and brick red walls and roses.

Nighttime celebration of Lima's 477th birthday!

Yesterday was one more adventure to add to my first 2 weeks in Peru. There was the crowded, luminescent celebration of Lima’s birthday in Plaza de Armas, complete with too loud speakers, cultural shows, and a trip to McDonalds (yeah, snicker mcflurries!). Oh, and the trip to the zoo with classmates and Peruvian friends. And admiring oil paintings by a cathedral in Miraflores. The artisan’s market with soft al-paca fur, bright colors, and booths (love it!). And reading ancient pre-Incan legends in Peruvian Literature. Then the song we dissected in Conversation class that almost made me cry for home (though I wasn’t sure which one). Being able to tell a taxi driver how to get to my apartment. Hiding behind sunglasses so people don’t stare as much. Laughing with Roxana, our housekeeper, when we startle each other coming around the corner. The peaceful nights through my window that suspend squares of light and salsa notes in the dark air.

Balancing my bag of goodies, I smile as more salsa music drifts through the courtyard of my apartment complex. The outer door snaps open to my key’s prompting, and I head inside to rest before next week’s adventure.

South American Salsa: First Taste

The line curves like a sleeping snake, piling row after row of people between red cords. I shift my sagging backpack to the other shoulder, cradling it with my hands to relieve an aching back and shoulders. I’ve been up for 20 hours on 4 hours of sleep. The line slowly seeps through immigration. My turn. A new stamp and signature in my passport. Brightly colored bills and oddly shaped coins replace a few of my greenbacks at the exchange booth. Then the waiting. And waiting. It is 1:30 a.m. Joined by layovers and lost baggage, a new friend and I fill out paperwork and figure out addresses. Will our host families still be waiting, too?


Waving arms. Relief and a kiss on the cheek. Amber and blue lights and night-shrouded buildings blend with the briny, cool breeze and Spanish. And sleep.

Sticky. Yellow sunlight and a soccer game at the park drift through the window. I don’t know my host mother’s name. How do I get her attention without offense? Smiling, curious conversation. Barbara Streisand and salsa on the radio with the windows down and white knuckles on the door handle. Delicious spices and tiny restaurants by busy streets feels like home- the one with tacos and smiles and warm skin.

A prescription paper and lawyer talk gets me through the guarded door at the hospital. A grandma with a broken hip waiting for pain medication and hairbrush. Observing family relationships, trying to stay out of the way but available to help.


A mall on a cliff by the sea. Soft Al-Paca shawl. The price tag reminds me that tuition is expensive. I get strawberry-banana smoothies close to a Starbucks and a lesson on Peruvian economy under the umbrella over the table. Dubbed Jack and Jill and generosity.

Taxi hopping and squished into a corner table, I try Pollo a la Braza. Savoring every last piece, I’m grateful to be distracted from a thousand details that crowd my overflowing brain. I don’t understand what he’s saying, so I nod and smile and put more chicken in my mouth and say thank you.



Latin sophistication gleams from the computer labs, an on-campus Starbucks,
guarded gates, and green trees at La Universidad Peruana de Ciencias Aplicadas.





“Make sure you spit all the water out,” I tell myself as I brush away the remains of my first 24 hours in Lima. Spending time with my travel Companion and Constant, the One who reads my Spanglish thoughts and feelings and lives in Lima. Bed.

 

Guess what? No bunk bed! Not sleeping
on a church pew, van seat, or cement floor!
 And a new mattress! Did I mention that hot
water comes out of the shower head? Definitely
a different kind of adventure :).





The DTS Outreach packing
list I handed out adapted
 to Peru



San Borja night shimmers through my window

South American Salsa: The Adventure (Almost) Begins

I can already feel the hum of the jet engines. The flight attendant steps to the center of the aisle with that awkward seat strap model. I could probably give the safety speech as well as her, but I take the safety brochure out of the seat in front of me and look at the pictures anyway. My mind is crystal clear and as taut as a bow string, the adrenaline surging through my body. I force myself to breathe deeply and stare out the window as the trees and cement blur into streaks of color. The wheels lift off the tarmac, and for a moment the plane seems weightless. No turning back now.


But all of that is tomorrow. Tomorrow night, I’ll be walking off of my third plane for the day and into the next adventure: Lima, Peru. Today, I’m still in Little Sweden, USA, savoring and storing up the last bits of home.

Whether you’ve been following for awhile or are new to my blog, welcome to the first entry in my latest blog series: South American Salsa. Yeah, salsa is probably a little too Mexican to be part of the title for a Peruvian adventure, but I couldn’t help it. Plus, salsa contains a plethora of different taste sensations and vegetables (I promise I won’t use bad words too often ;) that make a bowl of yummy goodness in the end. I’m hoping to give you an array of details and experiences that will delight our senses and piece together a new culture. And those of you who complain about my blogging laziness (ahem, Rob) will be happy to know that one of my classes requires that I update at least 2-3 times a month, so watch my Facebook status!

So here’s the basic scoop:

Destination: Lima, Peru

Place of Study: La Universidad Peruana de Ciencias Aplicadas (Peruvian University of Applied Sciences)

Length of trip: January 6- April 30

Reason for trip: get better at Spanish, see cool places, learn from new people, and discover more about Jesus

Going back to UNK in the fall? Yes- unless God changes the plan like He so loves doing

Best way to contact me? Email or Facebook

Welcome to the adventure! More to come.