I was so bored back in February.  February is not Peru’s tourist season.  Far from it.  Schoolchildren are on vacation here during January and February, but instead of organizing extracurricular groups and activities, many families send their kids to different areas of the country to spend time with relatives.  Oh, there are still groups of kids playing soccer in the street during the mornings.  But this is also the beginning of Peru’s infamous rainy season.  Every day, starting at around 2:00, we got downpours.  The streets turned into rivers.  People wore rubber boots over their shoes when they stepped outside – if they stepped outside.  I got to a point where I couldn’t handle being cooped up inside every afternoon, and went for walks in the rain that left me soaked when I came home.  People called me “la gringa loca.”  Maybe it’s true.  But I know my limits, and I was reaching their end as February rolled into March.

            It was during this time that I started thinking about teaching at one of the secondary schools when the kids returned from vacation.  I had half-baked plans running through my head long before I ever approached one of the local principals.  I wanted to teach a 10 – 12 week class called “Business & Entrepreneurship” during the upcoming semester.  The principal asked me to present a class syllabus.  I spent an intensive 2 days creating a preliminary version before realizing that the kind of class I had in mind could never be taught to students that were only 14 – 15 years old.  This was because I wanted to offer students the opportunity to receive and work with a micro enterprise loan, and such a financial obligation would never be taken seriously among younger students.  So, with my newly-designed syllabus in hand, I approached the local community college instead, and asked to teach the course there to students my own age.

            One of my greatest goals in teaching this course was to offer an economic start-up, and/or a potential learning lesson, to prospective entrepreneurs who were willing to work responsibly.  The catch was that this plan to offer money kind of flew-in-the-face of my training in development, which clearly stated that locals should prioritize their projects, and find their own sources of funding, and that handouts should never be an option.  I developed this Business & Entrepreneurship course carefully, and as an experiment, doing my best to ensure that those students who finally received their loans would have earned them.  I wanted to give people a leg-up if I could, knowing that many of them would never qualify for credit at a normal bank.  I wanted them to create Business Plans that could be successfully presented to a bank if they chose to continue with their new enterprise after the course ended.  And, I wanted to teach them how to use money wisely.  Whether their small business was a success or a failure, I wanted them to know why.

            Although the plans for this course had been composed in late February, it took nearly 3 months to get permission to begin, and the first day of class was May 25^th.  According to the syllabus, the students would not receive their loans until the fifth week of class.  One of the most frequent questions during the first couple of classes was, ¿What do I have to do to receive the loan?  They were viewing it as a handout and hoping to get the money without doing the work.  The answer was simple and consistent, and perhaps too easy to comply with for some of the people I went to school with.  But here, it was hard.  I told them they had to show up for class each week, on time; they had to do all the assigned homework, they had to participate actively in class discussions, they had to attend 1-on-1 meetings with me to discuss their personal business ideas, and most importantly, they had to write a formal Business Plan outlining all the details of their proposed project that met the required criteria.

            The community college asked me to invite 2 students from each of 8 class sections, totaling to 16, thinking that about half would drop out and I’d have my goal of 10.  On the first week of class, 10 students showed up instead of 16.  The second class included 5 from the first 10, plus 1 new student.  The third lesson had 5, the fourth and fifth had 4.  This week, I gave micro enterprise loans to 2 of those 4, and am still waiting for a Business Plan from the 3^rd; the 4^th student failed to write a Plan that met the expectations I explained to him, so clearly, for two weeks prior to the due date.

            I learned, as the class progressed, that although I considered my expectations to be perfectly reasonable – and my only way of determining the likelihood of collecting the initial loans at the end of 5 weeks – even the best students in the class could only meet them to a certain extent.  I started measuring these ups-and-downs to develop a better idea of who was serious, according to their culture within my rules, and who was still hoping for free money.  It wasn’t hard to figure out.

No one ever showed up on time (the class is supposed to start at 3:00, and normally starts closer to 3:30).  I learned not to judge dedication according to their promptness; it was better judged by whether they came at all.  I couldn’t help feeling a little disappointed when only 6 of the first 10 returned in the second week; I stopped one in the street to ask why, and quickly learned better.  I listened to endless apologies and excuses, but the fact was, the student wasn’t interested in the course, or dedicated enough to responsibly manage the loan.  I stopped asking why when students dropped out.  I figured it was better this way; there was potentially more money for the students taking the course seriously, and I was less likely to lose money to the students wanting a handout.  They were identifying themselves easily enough.

But, I still had to adjust my system of evaluation.  One of the students – the only woman in the class, Natalie – missed the first week of class.  She also stood me up during her 1-on-1 meeting.  But she had gotten the first week’s homework assignments from one of the other students, and came prepared in the second week.  She always did her homework, she knew exactly what she wanted to do in her small business, and she was one of the most active participants in class discussions.  I grew to appreciate her help when she grasped a concept that I couldn’t always communicate clearly; she quickly summed up the ideas for any of her classmates that didn’t understand.  Natalie’s Business Plan proposed starting a knitting club, where she would work with several other women to knit sweaters, from one of the cheaper local sheep wools, on private orders from men and women who lived alone at one of the local mines.

Javier was an exception with a major conflict.  He turned in all homework on time, paid attention in class, took extensive notes, and also knew exactly what he wanted to do in his small business.  In the short term, he wanted to travel to the coast every weekend to buy pigs that grow from a larger race, to sell to several ready-made clients when he got home.  In the long term, he wants to keep a couple of those pigs for himself and breed them in Chiquián, so that he can sell their offspring without having to travel so much.  The catch, with Javier, was that he was in the middle of a practicum 8 hours away from Chiquián, and couldn’t always get to class on time, provided he could come at all.  But he was wonderful about discussing his conflicts with me and letting me know in advance if he expected to be late to, or miss, class.  He was the only student who submitted his Business Plan on time.  That level of communication and promptness surprised me – as did my own eagerness to work with him separately when necessary.  I appreciated his dedication, and wanted to help him succeed.

Alex was a tougher call.  He had a fantastic monthly newspaper that he had started producing prior to the course.  I told him that if he wanted to work in relation to his paper, I would allow that (this was already bending the rules; I had initially told everyone that they needed to create a business that did not exist prior to the course), but that he needed to develop a project (such as improving distribution by selling other papers that were published more than once a month and getting to know his readers´ preferences) with separate – and clear – expenses, that could be started and finished within the 5-week time frame of the loan.  Unfortunately, although the Business Plan that he submitted would have been great for a bank, there was no new project and all the expenses were those related to his monthly publication.  I told him that, although he had a great paper and I wished him the best of luck with it, it was not my responsibility to meet his monthly overhead, and that since he had failed to develop a separate-but-related project, I could not give him the loan.

The fourth student, Franz, had some difficulties, but those were partly my responsibility.  We had some mix-ups on when to meet individually.  I extended his due date as a result.  He was unable to meet the extended due date, but it was clear that he was doing his best to finish the Business Plan, so I told him he could have until I leave for vacation to the northern department of Piura to submit his Plan.  He turned it in this afternoon.  About 1/3 of it was copied from what his friend Natalie had turned in, which really bothered me.  I don’t come from a culture that permits copying – actually, it’s called plagerizing where I come from, and is one on the greatest possible academic offenses.  But Franz had expanded the Product-and-Service section, specific to his project, and was the only one to submit a proper Financial Plan, blocked out with clear potential expenses and profits.  I found myself lecturing him on the fact that he’d copied from Natalie, but remembered hearing that such forms of mutual assistance were normal here, and accepted his Plan.  Franz got his loan this afternoon.

Now, sitting at the end of the fifth week of class, I can’t help feeling proud of the students who’ve made it this far.  I’ve enjoyed this first voyage into teaching.  It was a good decision to work with older students, and not only because of the responsibility of the loans; I like teaching, but don’t think I have the patience to do it as a career.  And I’ve enjoyed the learning experience for me involved with altering the evaluation process as the course progressed.  I feel like I’ve learned what’s fair and reasonable to expect of the students, but they’re also being challenged by my expectations.  I think this is the way any class should be.

Apart from the Business & Entrepreneurship course, my work continues with Club Esperanza.  They’re getting overwhelmed!  Not in a bad way, of course.  They love the work.  But since we’re now in June, instead of February, Peru is in the middle of tourist season, and the women’s products are flying off the shelves in all the stores where they sell on consignment.  At this point, they have to decide whether they want to keep selling in some stores where, even on consignment, the owners refuse to grant a profit to the women, and only pay them the cost of making the product.  Normally they wouldn’t have a choice in this matter, but right now, they’ve got several fantastic opportunities to develop if they choose to defend their rights.

The project that I’m most excited about is the chance to develop the online store that I proposed several months ago.  You might remember me talking about this before, and it does seem that my service with these women is being defined by whether or not they can start exporting before I leave.  Previously, the women decided that they didn’t want to branch into e-commerce with an online store because they were afraid of obligating themselves to the $25 a month that they have to pay, whether they sell or not, to maintain their web space (this server is in Spanish and, although expensive, very user-friendly, which is an invaluable resource in these parts).  I understood their concern and we decided to create a free webpage instead, through MSN Spaces, where they could let clients make private orders.  And although I accepted this decision, I couldn’t help thinking wistfully of all the opportunities they would have if they could sell online.

I discussed this dilemma with a woman in Lima when I was there earlier this month.  This woman worked in marketing in the States long before coming to Peru for her husband’s job with the Foreign Service.  She wanted to help the Club, but not by buying their products – although she did that too.  Instead, she offered to pay the necessary expenses to get the site up-and-going, and to support it, for one year.  This allows the women to learn about e-commerce, to experiment with true exportation, and to learn, by “watching the numbers,” if they could continue with the project during a second year when their expenses are their responsibility.  I was ecstatic.  I knew when I left Lima that, if the women chose to go ahead with the online store, this project would define my second year of service in the Peace Corps.

Of course, although money was the women’s greatest concern, it was also the easiest problem to solve – provided someone offered.  The hard part will be for the women, in creating the store, in communicating with customers, in maintaining an inventory and the webpage, in shipping concerns, and in taking digital photos of all the products they knit.  I’m dying to help them learn these things, but as I explained when I told them of this woman’s offer, I would not do this for them.  If they chose to continue with the store, it would be their responsibility.

They understood.  I think my greatest pleasure during last Monday’s meeting was their response to my friend’s offer.  It wasn’t joyous celebration at the thought of free money.  They knew it wasn’t a handout, but a well-deserved offer of help that came with obligations they could not yet envision.  After explaining the offer, I sat back and listened to them discuss it for a full half-hour.  Who would take which responsibilities?  Who was willing, and able, to work with such a project?  Would they have time to keep knitting if their time was being spent developing an online store?  They pondered all these questions, found their answers, and decided to accept the offer and proceed with the project.  They’re taking responsibility for the future of their Club.

In addition to this opportunity, my Peace Corps predecessor, Kate Robertson, is burying herself with the possibility of importing hand-knit alpaca products from Peru.  She first developed a private webpage when she returned to Chicago, but now she’s working with an MBA student from the University of Chicago, to take the project to a higher level.  They’re writing a business plan and requesting funds and hoping to pay someone to develop a new product line that they can assign, not only to the women of Club Esperanza, but to groups of women all over Ancash able to knit according to exact measurements, stitches, and designs.  It’s a huge project and they don’t know yet whether it will be a success, but Kate just made a “trial order,” and they’re really diving in headfirst.  Personally, I envy her experiments with entrepreneurship.  The knots in the stomach and the personal risks and sacrifices…it seems terrifying, but wonderful, and I think she’s having the time of her life.

I do not think that I am a compassionate person.  I don't say this out of humility, because I'm not humble, either.  The truth is that I'm selfish, egotistical, demanding, confident, and somewhat of a workaholic.  I did not come to Peru to save people or offer charitibal handouts.  I came here because I wanted to live abroad and practice development according to what I've seen.  I joined the Peace Corps, in particular, because it offered a unique opportunity to get hands-on experience at the grassroots level.

This doesn't mean I don't experience compassionate moments.  But, I think I can count on one hand the times I  think I have been compassionate since arriving in Peru.  There was the time when the baby boy of my host family's neighbors got attacked by a rabid dog and I went to the hospital with the family as support.  Or, there was the time when a fellow Volunteer went surfing during our Thanksgiving vacation and I dug up an eyecare solution to for his bloodshot eyes.

I'm trying really hard to think of a third example right now.  But nothing else comes to mind.  The fact is, these rare moments of compassion are clearly not why I came to Peru.  They are exceptions rather than the rule. I keep thinking, instead, of all the times I've passed beggers on the street and refused to drop a coin into their cups.  To give them money would be the moral equivalent of telling them that it's okay to sacrifice their dignity and throw away their lives, simultaneously making themselves dependant on the handouts of others.  I can´t make myself do that.

I came to Peru because I wanted to try implementing a form of participatory human development.  I requested an economic business setting, where I could potentially establish definable goals and measureable results.  And I wanted to work with women, thinking that perhaps here we might all learn to appreciate other ways of life.

It was important from the outset that I was able to approach my role as a Peace Corps Volunteer in such a way that would not allow anyone to be dependent on me.  I do not want people to think I can save them when they couldn't save themselves.  I came here to help them identify what needed to be done, and to facilitate the process that would allow them to meet those goals.  I wanted people to work, to accomplish, to respect themselves and their personal capacity.  I wanted them to take responsibilty for their actions, so that both their successes and failures would be their own.  I refused to take control.  I did not want them to think of the knitting Club as mine.  Their Club is their own.  I am willing to offer my mind, but only to the extent that I use it to help them recognize the capacity of theirs.

It would be easy, in my time here, to feel like I'm not doing anything.  This is different from saying that nothing is being done.  Development is the only field I've found where a person is actually more successful, the less they do.  That doesn't mean I don't work.  It does mean that, hopefully, if you were to ask the women what I do here, they wouldn't know how to respond.  Maybe they would say I support them, and sometimes offer an opinion, but they wouldn't be able to point out a particular project that is specifically mine.  They might say I'm not working.  They don't realize that we define my job differently, and that I consider myself most successful when they think I do nothing at all.

It could be argued that I am not without compassion, but that I am, in fact, acting compassionately by trying to strengthen and preserve the dignity of others.  Perhaps this is true.  But I do not have patience for laziness, and I will not acknowledge demands on my time that are not matched by an equal effort on the part of those I work with.  I do not feel sorry for or take pity on anyone I know.   Some might say that these expectations are conceited and unjust.  After all, I am essentially expecting people to imitate my self-confidence, my determination, and my work ethic.  But these traits might help them to succeed, and it´s not as though this is a one-way street.  I also learn to emulate their immense capacity for patience and to feel satisfied when the pace of work is not what I would prefer.  I find that when trust myself and follow my instincts, I end up as an example and prove that it is possible for others to do the same.  Some might call it selfish.  I call it necessary.

When my hometown pastor asked me to write this piece, he asked for something that would make people cry.  I think he hoped I would paint a picture of loving compassion that could open eyes and hearts to something new and beautiful that no one had seen before.   Personally, I don't believe there is anything I could say about compassion that everyone hasn't already heard.  Being in development for even this short time has shown me that the people I came here to work with do not need my abstract definitions of compassion.  They need my mind, but not in order to think for them.  They need me to show them how to do the work that they expected me to do.  This is the reality I know, and the code by which I work.

It’s odd to think that I’ve been writing these stories for six months now and have yet to write about the mundane activities of any given day.  My brother Matt has certainly asked for them…those seem to be the details that interest him most.  But they didn’t interest me.  Ten minutes ago, I might have asked myself why, but I just found the answer as I was walking in the streets of Chiquián.  Those details didn’t interest me because they were parts of my day that I was learning to live with, learning to accept, learning to tolerate.  But they weren’t necessarily exciting and they weren’t something I was ready to embrace.  Now, they are.

I usually wake up around eight or nine o’clock.  Previously, I would get out of bed immediately and begin my day, but the habit since last Saturday has been to stay there and read Ayn Rand’s The Fountainhead for a couple of hours.  This is my second time reading that book, and although I could write a lot on that subject alone, discussions of Ayn Rand can wait.

Showers used to be an every-other-day activity, but have been reduced to every three days since our electric shower cut out two weeks ago.  Some might think this isn’t a big deal…after all, I did used to say that cold showers were refreshing.  And although I stand by that claim, I feel very justified in saying that cold showers in Ancash are not something to be enjoyed.  They do offer a unique form of brain freeze, however, which, once conquered, gives me what I feel is the right to pat myself on the back and call myself a good Peace Corps Volunteer.

Breakfast varies but only slightly, since I really don’t know how to cook.  Sometimes its bread toasted over a gas stove and heavily buttered.  Most of the time it’s a scrambled egg, which is the height of my culinary abilities.  It always includes fruit…I love fresh fruit.  Bananas, mandarins, plums, grapes, strawberries, watermelon – take your pick.  Peru has it all, and it’s wonderful.  You’ve just got to wash it first.

Today, I went to the municipality as soon as I left the house.  I’m working with two men there to create a tourism website for Chiquián.  Alfonso Aragon, a local economist, has compiled an extensive list of all the restaurants, hotels, transportation lines, and tourist destinations in and around the town.  My job is to help them find internet space for this site, and to translate Alfonso’s file to English.  The first part is easy – the mayor said that the municipality’s site has a lot of unused space that we would be welcome to use.  The second part is much harder…translation is a tricky business.  We’re also planning to start taking day trips into all the tourist spots in order to get pictures for the site.  It’s such a hard life.  J

I went to my counterpart’s home after visiting with Alfonso and Miguel.  There’s a lot going on here these days.  I finally have a date for when I’ll be able to help Maria and her daughter Mary establish Club Esperanza online – January 20, 2006.  We’re taking pictures of all the incredible scarves now in stock as we record the measurements and weights of each piece.  The goal is to be ready to go full speed ahead on the 20^th, and we’re ahead of schedule.  We have twenty-five scarves ready to offer on the website and the women are having a blast looking at different pictures and designs that help them to create new fashions of their own.  I look forward to the day that this webpage is ready and I get to show you all what we’re working on down here.

I ate lunch with Maria’s family in-between all that picture-taking.  They served rice, French fries and chicken.  The emphasis on carbs is a typical Peruvian diet but I’m getting used to it.  When four o’clock rolled around I encouraged Maria to call a couple of store-owners in Lima that she’s hoping to meet with when she goes there next week.  She’s planning to display a number of the Club’s pieces with the hope of introducing their work to a new segment of Peru’s tourist market.  Although I push Maria to call these people and be persistent in maintaining those relationships, I’ve chosen not to go with her to Lima.  I want her to have the experience of negotiating alone.

Tonight I ate dinner at a local Chinese restaurant.  I ate alone, but that was as I wanted it…I was able to keep reading The Fountainhead.  I took the long way back as I walked home.  I went past my friend Carlos´ store.  We talked for a while about the outdoor space he’s been working to beautify so his church congregation has a nice place to worship.  It was a new topic of conversation for us, since Carlos and I normally talk about beekeeping.  He’s excited about seeing fresh grass grow in this worship spot.

The rest of the walk was interesting.  I passed the store where I buy toilet paper in bulk and another store whose owner is a good friend, and always willing to break large bills when no one else can.  I remember stepping carefully around a pile of fresh…hmmm, excrements, shall we say?  This is normal here.  I watched Rusvel, the son of one of the Club members, playing soccer in the street with his friends.  I saw a young couple that I live with, Jaime and Rina, chatting with her parents and taking turns holding their new baby.  I looked up past the buildings, to the end of any street in town, to see the incredible majesty of the mountains we’re all surrounded by, and which I am recently learning to truly appreciate.  And it hit me, as it never has before…

I love my life here.  I love the struggles and the frustrations.  I love the people I’ve met and the friends that I’ve made.  But the biggest surprise of all, the part that makes me feel happy and content as I have not yet felt before…I really love Chiquián.

            December 2005 marks my first Christmas without my family.  This seems strange even to me, considering how much I´ve traveled in recent years, but those trips were always either in January or during the summer.  This was the first time I spent Christmas without my two younger brothers, without the kitty who loves our tree but approaches it only at her own peril when our model train is running, without the stuffed bear we´ve had for as long as I can remember and plays Christmas carols when you press any of its four paws, without being able to listen to my mom play the piano, and – of course – without the traditional smoked ham.  For sure, the hardest part about this Christmas season was not being able to see my family.

            However...I had a wonderful Christmas.  Who would have thought that it was possible to enjoy myself and experience the Christmas spirit without all those things that traditionally define the holiday?  But I did.  About a week ago, Charro and I arranged her manger scene in our dining room.  This is a process unlike any I´ve ever known – and a lot messier.  The important thing to understand is that Peruvians don´t create manger scenes to reflect a dry stable in the desert, but instead to depict a lush green one in the middle of the Andes Mountains.  Charro says they like to bring Christ´s birth “closer to home.”  So our first task was to dye three pounds of wood shavings bright green.  No joke – there are pictures on my blog site.  Then we arranged the stable and covered the table with our (damp) green wood shavings before positioning Mary, Joseph, and about sixty small glass animals of every possible type.  My special contribution was the trail of (brown) wood shavings lined in small stones and used to create a path to the stable door.  The baby Jesus was not added to this scene until 12:00 midnight on December 24, and the three wise men will be added (to my rock-lined path) on January 6, which is when Catholics believe these men actually arrived in Bethlehem.  The characters are completely out of proportion to each other and nothing matches, but the final effect is incredible...Peruvians take their manger scenes very seriously, and buy new pieces every year.  Sixty animals is actually considered quite small.  The manger scene in the municipality has over three hundred pieces.

On Christmas Eve, I spent all morning with Charro and Freddie.  First we prepared lunch with Sulma, another woman who lives with us (and is pregnant! – she´s due in March).  Then we got everything ready for the fancy Christmas Eve dinner before Charro and Freddie went to nap.  I took the opportunity to duck out and do some Christmas shopping.  My intention was to buy just a couple token gifts, but I came back with a whole tree (only 5 feet tall and fake, but very pretty), complete with lights and decorations.   We spent the afternoon decorating and taking pictures in front of “Freddie´s First Christmas Tree.”

Charro´s dad, stepmom, and little stepsister and stepbrother came over around seven.  We all sat in the dining room while waiting for dinner to be ready.  The babies all opened their presents (adults don´t typically exchange Christmas presents here) and proceeded to fight over the new toys (apparently that´s the same no matter where you live).  Freddie decided he´s going to be a rock star on his plastic guitar that plays “Old McDonald Had A Farm.”  The babies fell to sleep after that, and the rest of us ate after ten-thirty.  We had chicken prepared in a bread oven, which has a better flavor than simply boiling it.  This was accompanied by potatos, yuca, a tomato salad, an onion salad, hot chocolate, and canned peaches for dessert.  The plan was to go to a church service called “misa” after eating, but by eleven-thirty no one had the energy and all the babies were sleeping, so we decided to wait until the New Year to go to misa.  That didn´t mean it was time for bed, however.  We still had to wait until midnight for the baby Jesus to be “born.”

Christmas Day was different.  When I realized that Peruvians don´t do much on Christmas Day here, I said yes to an invitation from a missionary family from the States to have dinner with them in the afternoon.  They served turkey, stuffing, green beans, cranberry sause, hot butter rolls, and pumpkin pie (which I didn´t even get at Thanksgiving, because no one knew how to make it from scratch).  It was a great meal and reminded me of home.  The mom, Caroline, even gave me a bag full of homemade caramels to bring back to Charro.

All in all, I´ve decided that I´m pretty fortunate down here.  It´s not every year in my life that I´ll get to spend Christmas in the middle of the Andes.  So I´ll chalk it up to a sweet and memorable experience, and try to bring a Peruvian tradition or two back to the States.  Who knows?  Maybe I´ll cover my mom´s Yamaha, upright grand piano with dyed and damp wood shavings two years from now.