South American Salsa: Satin Reflections

Sky satin whirls through air, frolicking with bright reed flute notes, deep drum beats, teasing smiles. Stomping feet and brisk yips echo in the festive atmosphere executed by polite waiters, complementary Pisco sours, and juicy tequeños dipped in avocado. I savor the salty, crispy, cheesy, way-too-greasy bite and then refocus my attention on the dancers. Weaving gaily, twirling, with their professional smiles firmly in place, they show off traditional dances from Piura, Arequipa, la selva and other regions of Peru. The array of styles, steps, and music hint at the diversity of Peruvian culture. I bob my head to the rhythm, enjoying the show and thinking that it’s a good way to spend a last weekend in Lima.

What? Wait . . . It really is that. Once we begin our post-semester traveling on Friday, I will only spend two more nights in Lima. The next week will go so fast- a little homework, one in-class final, packing, a funeral mass, a good-bye lunch and any other lasts I should squeeze in. Puno and Lake Titicaca on the weekend, and then Iquitos and the Amazon the next week. Back in Lima for 36 hours to do final packing and goodbyes, and then boarding a Miami-bound plane on April 29^th. And then Kansas and Kearney and friends and reverse culture-shock.

The last few months have flown by in a whirl of combies, classrooms, challenges, outings, and laughter. I will miss the heat of the sun on my back as I test out icy ocean water. And the spicy flavor of anticuchos or ají de gallina or papa a la huancaína. My red and white apartment building with yellow flowers spilling over the wrought-iron fence. The energy and convenience of a big city. Moving to salsa music, classes in Spanish, maybe even the occasional, “Please, sir, you know that’s a lot. Give me the taxi ride for 7 soles or I’ll ask Juanito over here instead.” But I think I’ll miss the people in my program the most. Bonfires on the beach, Bembos ice cream dates, funny stories about messing up Spanish or falling out of combies, random conversations on the steps inside the entrance to UPC.

I won’t miss the constant “Hey, baby, nice body” comments or whistles from strangers, the every-Peruvian-for- himself driving chaos, or the being cheated because I’m a foreigner parts of Lima. The constant feeling that everyone is staring at you, the pretending to look mean as I navigate streets on my way home.  

I have learned a lot here. About subjunctive tenses, the usage of por vs. para, the meaning of “phrasal verbs”or how word order affects meaning. About the diversity and complexity of the Peruvian culture. About social problems facing Peru past, present, and future. About humans’ rights and indigenous politics in Peru and Latin America in general. As I reflected in a final essay earlier this week:

“That’s the thing that leaves me thoughtful. Perhaps because I grew up in a family that had to stretch paychecks to have food on the table, or because I have spent years praying for, studying, and working with marginalized groups, I have always felt a connection with indigenous groups and poverty-stricken families. The past few months spent living with the other side of society—shopping all the time, spending Fridays at the beach, or staying in resorts- have made me realize how easy it is to get caught up the materialism rampant in upper classes and wealthier countries. While having a maid serve my meals and do my laundry really bothered me in the beginning, I can feel it slowly becoming normal.

“I have had amazing experiences during my time here, but I do not feel the same connection to Peru as I have to other cultures that I have spent time in. The old saying goes, “you get out what you put in.” My life here has revolved around me—my studies, my friends, my classes, my fun. And that scares me. I have at least two more years of studies in a place generally isolated from extreme poverty. My life will easily fill with activities, classes, friends, and fun . . . I realize that staying aware of the hardship faced by so many people every day will take a conscious effort on my part. I hope that I choose to stay connected with the people who have lived a much harder life than I. If I forget, I become part of the problem.”

Ready to watch some dancing!

The after-the-dances dance party on the stage. Limeans love to dance!

A few corrections. . .

Huayco is actually spelled huaico.
And it was over 600 families that were left homeless by the landslides. One woman was left dead and 21 peopl injured. According to the newspaper "Nuevo Ojo," these are some of the worst landslides in recent years. At this point, help has been promised by officials, but until yesterday afternoon, there had not been any organized aid in motion.

South American Salsa: Huayco!

“Disculpe, Señor,” my host mom leans her head out into the drizzle and motions the man over to the car. “¿Hay paso enfrente?”

No, not for hours.  They are just letting a few people through at a time. I peer through the droplet-laden darkness at the tightly packed car lights blinking in front of us. The line is kilometers long. Retreating from my frustration into a little Rascall Flatts and Carry Underwood, I try to find a position that will make my back ache less. With four girls, several grocery bags, a laptop, and a DVD player packed in the back seat, wiggle room is counted in millimeters.

The rain started about half an hour before we arrived at the country club. My host family had rented a bungalow up in the mountains about an hour outside of Lima, wanting to spend Easter weekend relaxing together. Just as I was coming back to the car to carry the last of multiple grocery bags, suitcases, and pots across the club grounds, I spotted my host mom waving frantically at me from across the gravel parking lot. As I reached her, she excitedly told me that there was a “huayco” and to come see. I had no idea what a huayco was, but it seemed to be important. We joined scores of other vacationers at the entrance to the club just as traffic on the nearby highway came to a halt.

Within seconds, an inch or two deep flood of water raced down the highway. Behind me, the gravel driveway filled with water 3 or 4 inches deep and proceeded to flood the soccer field. While my host mom quickly removed her shoes and ran to move the car to higher ground, I watched people tear down tents with impressive speed and race to their cars, bags in hand. Huayco! Huayco!

Rosy, another girl who lives with my host family, recorded footage as we discussed whether or not to leave. They had cut the power to the whole club, and as we later discovered, the whole town because of the large amounts of water. Without electricity, there would be no cooking, spoiled meat, and a host of other complications. My host dad’s mother called to tell us there had been huaycos in the closest town. We reloaded everything as quickly as possible and left for Lima.

That was two hours ago. Rock and mud blocking the road has backed up frenzied traffic , not only here in Chosica but also in nearby Chaclacayo. We are all tired, tense, bored, and squished. My host mom turns up Barbara Streisand on the radio, illiciting complaints as the Katy Perry music video on the laptop in the backseat is drowned out. No longer able to handle three different styles of music and honking horns, I grit my teeth and pull out my headphones. This is going to be a long night.

We inch forward. Streams of people sheltered by trash bags rush past us the opposite direction, looking for high ground. Rain dances in the headlights.  

Suddenly, traffic jolts forward, opening up a space to take a different road. After half a second of thought, my host mom follows 2 other vehicles up the mountain. A native of Chosica, she thinks that there may be a way to get around the landslide on this parallel local road used by the mototaxis. After several off-roading maneuvers that should really only be attempted with a 4-wheel drive (not this little city car), rocks scraping the underbelly of the car and all passengers out, we finally get to the main road on the other side of the landslide. The highway that had been so clean a few hours ago was now covered with inches of mud. After driving past 3 or 4 kilometers of 3 lanes of paralyzed traffic heading up the mountain, we headed down to Lima. I flopped into bed at 1:30 a.m. after a midnight meal of anticuchos and potatoes.

This morning, the T.V. informed us that there had been 8 landslides in the Chosica/Chaclacayo area, leaving 300 families without electricity and water, and drowning one woman in her home. Many homes have been damaged or destroyed. Road crews will be working for days to clear the highways.

My back is still sore as I write this, and I’m admittedly locked in my room getting a little personal space back. I’m just now realizing how lucky we were to get down. I’m also realizing what these families will be dealing with in the next few months as they try to put life back together. Please pray for them, if you get a second.

Water fills the soccer field and runs off into a
very full drainage ditch- this is maybe half an hour
after the first water crossed the parking lot of the club.

Torrential rain in the mountains created the landslides in Chosica

Rosy, Ariana, and Marisol packed in the back seat with me.
Scared faces, everyone!

Some roads were completely filled, stacked feet higher than
this road, with rock from the mountain

Mud and rock covers the road

City of Chosica, where the most huaycos hit

Traffic backs up for miles. . . 3 lanes going
one way in parts!