Summer school classes were canceled in the secondary school, so I coordinated with the local municipality and the primary school to organize my own classes. I tried for weeks before starting classes to work sustainably by involving a local teacher, but eventually our plans fell through and I was left to work alone.

For most volunteers, the rainy season months of January and February and Vacaciones Útiles classes present unique challenges. With large class sizes, we often end up working alone even though it’s a problematic sign our work is not sustainable. (See my first summer school experience here: Rainy Season and Summer School)

Yet for me, this February may have been my favorite month of service. My class was comprised primarily of a small group of  9-12 year olds. In other words, each class was full of energy, interesting questions, and short attention spans. We focused on leadership, life skills, sports, and art and would hang out before or after the class playing group games. Their favorite is Ninja!

Since I normally work with around 130 students on a weekly basis, I appreciated the opportunity to spend multiple hours every day with the same small group of students. Also, working alone freed me from the constant challenge of coordinating with teachers and gave me the freedom to develop my own classes and workshops. Along with this freedom, I felt more comfortable this year with the students and with my Spanish, and it was obvious their trust in me had also improved.

The classes culminated with a day hike along the Inca trail to a nearby town where we visited Inca ruins. I invited a friend from Tarma who served as our guide along with another friend who is an environmental engineer. More students participated than I expected, and the trip was a wonderful way to celebrate the end of summer classes and the start of the new school year.

The school year has now officially started, and I’m optimistic about my last 7 months here in Huaricolca. Despite high teacher turnover, the schools and I have improved our coordination and work by learning from our successes and failures of last year.

Teachers and I are working to develop small groups of leaders in each grade while continuing to improve weekly life skills classes which are part of the Peruvian curriculum. We also hope to expand our “Professional Hour,” an event we did last year, by inviting different universities and technical institutes to participate and focusing on job orientation before and after the event.

Above all, I’m excited to continue building friendships with students and sharing moments with my host families. Time flies, and I know that too soon this wild ride will be coming to an end.

****Disclaimer: “The content of this website is mine alone and does not necessarily reflect the views of the U.S. Government, the Peace Corps, or the Peruvian Government.”

The post Peace Corps is a Roller Coaster Ride: Summer School Year 2 appeared first on Traveling Archive.

My Parents Were Coming to Perú.

We’d been planning the trip for months, and I could already picture the forthcoming collision of worlds and cultures — American and Peruvian, Spanish and English, my U.S. family and my host families.  The images began forming in my mind of stressful taxi rides, trying new foods, learning Spanish phrases, meeting my host families, and translating just about everything.

These images carried with them a rush of emotions, a strange mixture of happiness, excitement, and nervousness. Yet as my parents poked their heads through the customs’ door, all that was left was the joy of being together after a long year apart (and maybe the worry of finding a safe taxi!).

Our plan for the trip was twofold — meet my families and see Cusco. Despite Peru’s beautiful beaches, snow-topped mountains, and deep jungles, my parents’ priority was meeting the most influential people of my Peace Corps experience — my host families. A close second was visiting Cusco, the Sacred Valley, and Machu Picchu.

Our first stop was my host family outside Lima where I lived for 3 months of training. Despite an eye opening taxi ride for my parents (there is little respect for lanes or speed limits in Lima and the traffic is horrific), we arrived at one of my favorite places in Peru.

My family in Lima has continually opened their doors to me since training, and in many ways their house has become a second home for me — an escape from the mountain cold and the stresses of Peace Corps life. As I arrived home once again, this time with my parents, I knew they would experience firsthand the same warmth and hospitality that I received exactly one year ago.

They definitely did. In Peru, welcoming guests into your home is significant, and food is a large part of this welcome. We ate, and ate, and ate. After all, the best way to reciprocate hospitality here is eating all you possibly can, and then some. That’s easy to do so when you’re served a delicious lomo saltado and a variety of different fruits and juices.

Despite the language barrier and translation, it felt as if our families had met before. We talked about our hometowns, languages, traditional foods, families, hobbies, and occupations. It was a blessing for my parents to finally meet them and have the opportunity to thank them in person for the support and love they’ve shown me. It was a perfect start to our trip and introduction to a real Peruvian family and their culture.

Our next stop was Cusco. In my opinion, it lived up to the hype.

After our first night of adjusting to the altitude and checking out the Plaza de Armas (central plaza), we picked up my sister from the airport. She was arriving from her summer job in Quito, Ecuador, and joining us for the rest of the trip. Being together was wonderful, but we did miss my two brothers who weren’t able to make it.

We began by visiting Qoricancha (or Coricancha), one of the most important Incan temples of its time. What were once entirely gold-plated walls have been reduced to only a few stone rooms. Today, a catholic convent and church now stand atop the remaining ruins, creating the stark contrast characteristic of Cusco between old and new, Incan and Spanish.

In fact, the vast majority of the once Incan capital was destroyed by the Spaniards who built immaculate churches with the gold and stone stripped from the Incan temples. Oddly enough, in the case of Qoricancha, it was the catholic monks who preserved what little remained of the temple’s walls.

After our tour of the temple, we wandered the beautiful city streets, perusing the plethora of small shops and restaurants. We finished our day in the small artisan market and Incan-walled neighborhood of San Blas. Here we enjoyed a tasty dinner of lomo saltado, carapulcra, chicharrón, and skewers of alpaca.

Our next stop was Ollantaytambo, a quaint Incan town which has become a popular stepping stone on the way to Machu Picchu. Rather than traveling directly, we joined one of the many sacred valley tours offered throughout Cusco.

As we wound through the fertile farmlands once cultivated by past civilizations, catching occasional glimpses of the snow-topped Andes off in the distance, we experienced a firsthand glimpse of the ingenuity and expansiveness of the Incan Empire. History came alive.

We stopped at Lake Piuray, an Inca’s (king) secondary home in Chinchero, the experimental agricultural terraces of Moray, and the salt mines in Salineras. While I would have wished for more time in each site to explore and hike, the guided tour was an effective and educational way to visit various sites without breaking the bank.

Rather than returning to Cusco with the group, we stayed in Ollantaytambo. This decision allowed us to explore more of the extensive ruins consisting of terraces, storehouses, and a temple. We were thankful to spend the next day there as well rather than rushing straight to Machu Picchu. Ollantaytambo and its Incan water canals, perfectly constructed walls, and quiet, narrow streets became one of our favorite stops of the trip.

From Ollantaytambo we took the overly-priced train to Aguas Calientes (or Pueblo Machu Picchu), the final stop before Machu Picchu itself. While beautifully set in the middle of the hills, the town is dominated by thousands of tourists and therefore hostels, restaurants, and higher prices. We generally preferred Ollantaytambo.

The next morning we were headed to Machu Picchu! After a 3 a.m. wakeup call and a two hour wait for the first buses, we wound our way up switchbacks in the dawn light.

It was worth the lack of sleep. As we emerged from the path for our first view from above Machu Picchu, the sun peaked over the hill, slowly rolling back the shadows over the ancient city. The view was breathtaking.

Our tour led us farther into the jungle vegetation and then through the city itself as we learned about the site’s religious and military importance as well as its surprising discovery in 1911 by American archeologist Hiram Bingham.

Although we were among the first visitors, the site was still full of people due to high tourist season. Despite the crowds, I think Machu Picchu retained its mystery and grandiosity. It’s hard to feel crowded when surrounded by miles and miles of green hills.

We circled back around to the entrance to start the second part of our day — Montaña Machu Picchu hike. While not as well known as Huayna Picchu, the mountain right behind the ruins in many photos, Machu Picchu Mountain is significantly higher and arguably more strenuous.

With almost a thousand feet of elevation gain, almost the entire trail is steps. Yet the view was worth the effort. From the top of the mountain you can see a 360 degree view of the surrounding mountain ranges, including Machu Picchu and parts of the Andes.

Exhausted from an amazing day we made our way back to Ollantaytambo and then back to Cusco where we still had two full days. The recommendations from family and friends were accurate; you could explore Cusco and the Sacred Valley for weeks or months.

The next day we hopped in a minivan to explore the Pisac ruins, only a 40 minute drive from Cusco. We’d highly recommend taking a taxi up to the top of the ruins and then hiking down through the various sites until you reach the small town and its well-known artisan market. The ruins include terraces, a temple, storehouses, lookout towers, and living areas.

For our final day, my parents decided to relax and explore a bit more of the city while my sister and I took an organized tour to Rainbow Mountain, one of Cusco’s newest tourist destinations. One of the few “colored” mountains in the world, La Montaña de 7 Colores (or Vinicunca) was only discovered in the last five years as the effects of climate change melted away layers of snow and ice. These mountains still hold religious significance for the locals, and the spirit (apu in Quechua) and protection of the mountain is revered.

The hike only covers around 7 kilometers yet begins at over 14,000 feet and ends at over 17,000. Oxygen therefore is scarce. The weather is known to be volatile (sometimes the mountain is even covered in snow), but we were blessed with a sunny day. On the hike you experience snow-capped mountains on one side and sandy rolling hills on the other.

As we left Cusco, we were thankful for a week of new experiences, knowledge, foods, and culture. Peru is now considered by historians to be one of the birthplaces of human civilization and therefore home to some of the oldest cultures in the world. In other words, Cusco and the Incan Empire are only one part of Peru’s long history.

Yet there is something fascinating and unique about this empire that once stretched from Quito, Ecuador in the north past Santiago, Chile in the south. We were grateful for a small glimpse into its capital city, Cusco, and the history of its rapid and strategic growth, technological advances, constructions techniques, political structure, and fateful downfall to the Spanish.

For the last leg of our trip, we made our way from the heart of Peruvian tourism to a remote mountain town which has become my home, Huaricolca. My family was there waiting for us with arms wide open and a table set with pachamanca, a labor of love slow-cooked with hot rocks inside the ground.

My grandpa gave the formal words of welcome and gratitude for our visit to their town and home. After sharing pachamanca and more palabras (short speeches), we were invited to help with a custom called Santiago, placing ribbons and other decorations on the bulls and cows.

Despite the rain and a little reservation on the part of my family, we each placed a ribbon and necklace of fruit on the animals. For other families who have more cows, Santiago is a yearly celebration with food, a band, dancing, drinking, and rounding up the animals.

The next day, to our surprise, we were served cuy con maní (guinea pig with peanut sauce) for lunch which was special for my parents and sister to try.

Next, we visited the community’s most important site, Mamahuari or Pintish Machay. About an hour walk from the town center, this cave was once the most important religious site for the first inhabitants of the regions thousands of years ago. There still remains various cave paintings which are evidence of their earliest practices and beliefs and which are now a small tourist attraction. To this day, the community tells stories of years past and celebrates festivals there.

Our trip ended in the way same way it started, with a beautiful sharing of cultures, foods, and languages. I once again felt honored for the opportunity to see my two worlds collide. I know my US family and host family felt the same. Despite such a short stay in Huaricolca, goodbyes were difficult.

Yet sending my family off to the US the next day was even harder. To be honest, this was one of my lowest moments of Peace Corps. I left the bus station in Tarma with a heavy heart, for the end of an amazing vacation and for the coming months away from my family.

Due to work, I couldn’t stay down and out long. A few hours later I had band practice and the next day classes in the primary school. Returning to work is never easy, but this time around work turned out to be not only a good distraction from my thoughts, but also an encouraging reminder of the community I’ve built here.

Rather than only feel lonely, I was able to keep a positive attitude and began to notice the many positive relationships I’ve built here over my first year. I was encouraged by laughing with students, playing cards with my host family, and coordinating again with teachers.

I reminded myself this is what Peace Corps is about — building relationships, cultural exchange, education and capacity building, new experiences, and slow development.

In the end it boils down to sacrificing some opportunities and relationships to invest in one place and people. The job is never easy, but it can be rewarding.

The post My Family Visits Perú: Cusco, Machu Picchu, & the Sacred Valley appeared first on Traveling Archive.

A question has been on my mind. “Am I actually a minority here in Peru?” Clearly I am the only North American in my town of 2,000 and happen to be white, blue eyed, and 6 feet tall (making me the numerical minority). Yet a sociological definition of majority/minority has much more to do with power and opportunities than it does with numbers.

Therefore, the conversation begins with one word: privilege.

I didn’t know I was privileged until only a few years ago; in fact, I didn’t know what that meant.

For most of my life, I never gave a second thought to the fact that I belonged to a group called “white”^[1] or “straight” or “middle-class” or “male” or “able-bodied.” I was just me.

Scholars call this ignorance itself a form of privilege, the “privilege of ignorance.” People with privilege can live relatively unhindered by their race, ethnicity, gender, sexual orientation, economic status, etc. They have the option of ignoring their privilege and the plight of others. People in minority positions never have such a choice, as their identities daily affect their lives.

So I was ignorant that millions of people fear holding the hand of their lover in public, write fake “white” names on job applications, earn less for the same work, are consistently spoken over, hide a central part of their identity, are feared because of their religious beliefs, or catch nasty looks in the grocery line.

I’ll admit; there is a whole spectrum of human experience I haven’t known. Yet I’ve tried to understand and empathize.

I’ve made friends with people living on the streets as we ate ham and cheese. I’ve argued in sociology classes and sat with the dying, hearing their words through a translator. I’ve read books that have made me enraged, enlightened, and depressed and tried to listen to friends who have seen life differently.

As I explored this world, I quickly learned what most of us instinctively know deep down: life is really unfair. Yet what many people never realize is that this unfairness is not a randomized unluckiness, but rather systematized injustice.  Society is a complex game and it’s stacked (or dare I say rigged) to benefit certain groups of people.

What do we call these free benefits (power, influence, and possibilities) that society grants to some and not to others: privilege.^[2] Privilege is never worrying about my skin color, never having my gender used as an insult, never been mistaken for a criminal, always expecting to go to college, always being able to access buildings, or always feeling safe in my neighborhood.

I never knew one word could describe so well the way I and many people I know navigate and experience the world.

Whether we know it, accept it, or want it, we all take part in unjust societies. The question becomes how we will respond to this understanding.

Coming to Peru, I wanted to be aware of my privilege. After all, Central and South America have experienced enough colonialism.^[3] I knew that being in a completely new cultural context would shift and change my privilege dramatically. What I’ve come to realize is that even though I’m the only gringo in town, I’m far from what it means to be a minority.

I’ve heard some volunteers express being a minority for the first time here in Peru. To some degree it’s true. The unwanted attention, odd looks, outright rejection, feelings of not belonging, and fear for one’s safety mirror aspects of the minority experience.

Living as the only gringo in town has undoubtedly given me fresh insights into minority experiences and hopefully a greater capacity for empathy.

That being said, I would say I’m not a minority in my community. Actually, the power, influence, and possibilities I experienced in the U.S. are often reinforced or strengthened here.

I’m still granted unwarranted influence or honor because I’m a white, educated foreigner.  I’m still a male in a machista culture, meaning I’m treated like a professional and my opinions are respected. I’m still a Christian in a culture where everyone believes in God and faith is part of education and business. I still don’t feel pressure to hide my gender or sexual orientation from my community. If I decided to, I can grab my U.S. passport, hop on a plane tomorrow, and be in almost any country in the world.

Part of living and working in another culture is paying close attention to how you act and how you are perceived. In any context, this is a good place to start — attempting to understand one’s place, identity, and privilege. With this awareness, we can begin to understand how we’ve been shaped to think and act to the benefit of some and the hindrance others.

As Peace Corps volunteers, we are a diverse group in and of itself and each person experiences his or her service in a different way. For my black, Asian, or Latino(a) friends here, the idea of being considered a gringo in their town is almost comical. They clearly experience their work and communities very differently than I do.

We talk about the need to be allies for one another, friends who are not only actively trying to understand the experience of minorities but are taking concrete steps to support them and stand against forces of discrimination, oppression, and violence.

Yet for anyone in my position, maintaining the status quo will always be the easy way out because coasting through life means continuing to benefiting from the system.

I admit I’m too comfortable where I am. I make friends easier with people like me. I am scared of asking hard questions. Sometimes being privileged makes life really easy. But I find admitting this is a good first step.

I hope my service can bring out a different side of me, a more compassionate and selfless side. I don’t want to coast. I want learn from becoming part of a new community here in Peru. I hope to work towards re-empowering others for their own benefit, not mine.

In the end, all is easier said than done. Yet I’m certain of one thing: the Peace Corps has already deepened my understanding of my privilege and identity and is continually helping me see more clearly the complexity of the human experience.^[4]

Footnotes

[1] Or in the words of Ta-Nehisi Coates “the people who believe themselves white.” After all, the concept and social significance of race in the U.S. was created by whites as a justification for slavery.

[2] For some incredible concrete examples of privilege and how it plays out in everyday life, check out this video about the concept of the “invisible knapsack” from sociologist Peggy McIntosh: https://youtu.be/DRnoddGTMTY

[3] For an eye-opening read about the political actions of the United States in Central and South America check out: Empire’s Workshop by Greg Grandin. I’ve also heard good things about Open Veins of Latin America by Eduardo Galeano and personally enjoyed the concise history of Latin America called Born in Blood and Fire by John Charles Chasteen.

[4] If you’re interested about the complexity of privilege and the human experience, I’d suggest reading about cross-sectionality. From my basic understanding, it is a theory about how each person always experiences life in both privileged and not privileged ways and how these complexities affect and interact with one another.

****Disclaimer: “The content of this website is mine alone and does not necessarily reflect the views of the U.S. Government, the Peace Corps, or the Peruvian Government.”

The post My Privilege in Peru: A U.S. Peace Corps Volunteer in Huaricolca, Part IV appeared first on Traveling Archive.

A week before Christmas, the school year here ended, along with it some youth volunteers’ hopes of having consistent work for a few months. Thankfully, vacaciones útiles is notorious for keeping both volunteers and students busy.

The near equivalent of summer classes in the U.S., vacaciones útiles are classes normally sponsored by the local school and government which can include sports, art, math, culture, communication, or science. Because of the size of my town and a few complications, I was told there would be no classes this year. Thankfully the directora of the school is very motivated and offered to come two mornings a week without pay.

So when she asked me to teach a class on leadership and public speaking, I of course responded “Sí.” After all, she’s the director and knows best what the students need. But I’m sure my face betrayed my hesitancy. Something about teaching public speaking in your second language to students from a different culture seems almost comical — and of course intimidating.

The results — mixed. I’d love to report that my classes have been a massive success, but that would be far from the truth. Having classes has helped me build trust with parents, relationships with students, and reputability among local organizations, all of which is an essential part of any volunteer’s job. Yet as expected, ten class sessions haven’t produced formidable leaders or public speakers. Even small progress is hard to see.

Classroom management has definitely been my greatest challenge. For both practical and sustainability reasons, we volunteers are not supposed to work alone. Despite my efforts trying to convince the two teachers who live in the community to spend their summer vacation with me and a bunch of teenagers, I found myself alone in the classroom. I’m very thankful for what we learned about classroom management in pre-service training, and I scoured my brain for any and every tactic that could help me. I did my best despite having no real authority, and I definitely learned through the process.

I also had the opportunity to teach English which is what many people of the community had been asking for. As the school year was coming to a close, one of the teachers who lives in Huaricolca showed interest in learning English. I told him I don’t offer personal lessons, but we could create a class for youth in the community, turning the table on his request. With his help, we started sign-ups, advertised with posters and a radio spot, and coordinated with the local municipality to use their auditorium. With 10-15 students, we had a great time playing Simon Says and singing the Beatles while learning basic, basic inglés.

Aside from classes, the rainy season is in full swing here.  Farmers have planted oats. Potato plants are waist high. The hills have turned a dark green. While I still spend a great deal of time helping my host family or walking around town, I have also enjoyed spending my increased free time alone — going for a run or tucked away in my room reading a book or watching a TV show.

You lose a lot of independence as a Peace Corps Volunteer. For many of us who were living independently before the Peace Corps — renting apartments, owning cars, and cooking our own meals — living with host families in small communities is a whole new world and can feel restrictive. Control becomes limited in some aspects. Rice, potatoes, and/or white bread might be breakfast (and dinner). You might have to wait an hour for your taxi to fill up on your way home. Or your 7 year old host brother, who they call loro (parrot) for good reason, might mistake your nap time for play time.

Yet I think independence lost can also be viewed more positively as community gained. In Peru, community, family, and interdependence are central to the culture. Family members share rooms. Young adults live with their parents; grandparents live with their children. In my community, everyone older than you is a tia o tio.  When someone you know knocks on the door, you invite them in for food. People ask — ¿Me acompañas? (Will you accompany me?) — not only because being together is more fun, but also because it seems odd to work or play alone. I’ve seen many abuelos y abuelas get teary eyed as they share about their children and grandchildren who live in Lima, just outside their reach.

While community seems optional in the U.S. and dependence a sign of weakness, in Peru they are a way of life. People bind their lives, hopes, families, and dreams to those of others. I find this interdependence and vulnerability beautiful. To be human is to be vulnerable and dependent on others. Individual autonomy is a lie we buy too easily in North American culture, that somehow we can truly live independently and can define ourselves apart from others.

Of course community has its downsides. Chisme (small-town gossip) is real. Vulnerability is risky. Broken trust is painful. But every day I’m learning from my Peruvian family and friends that community is worth it.

What surprises me, and that for which I’m most grateful, is that little by little I’ve been welcomed into this culture of communality. While the people from La Sierra region are known to be socially more reserved than those from la Costa o Selva , I’ve also seen another side of them — their affection, hospitality, and openness. I’ve danced in a stranger’s wedding, laughed with an abuela trying to learn Quechua, been invited in for soup, and been called gringito by countless grandmas. As the new school year begins on Monday, I’m excited to begin investing more of my time into this community, one that I’m slowly becoming a part of.

****Disclaimer: “The content of this website is mine alone and does not necessarily reflect the views of the U.S. Government, the Peace Corps, or the Peruvian Government.”

The post Rainy Season and Summer School: A U.S. Peace Corps Volunteer in Huaricolca, Part 3 appeared first on Traveling Archive.

After the swearing-in ceremony, our whole training group promptly said our tough goodbyes, and we were bused off to our respective communities. Packed days of training alongside an incredible group of friends and PC staff instantaneously became relatively free days of pretending to have a clue of what I should be doing and what it means to be a Peace Corps volunteer. In other words, the process of integrating into the community.

Although I’ve experienced a vast shift from structured activities to an open schedule requiring my own self-motivation, this sea of unknown challenges and opportunities is what we volunteers live for. The chance to speak only Spanish — to play too much soccer — to eat whatever is put in front of you — to begin investing in the families and communities with whom we will share the next two years.

These challenges are what motivate us, but also what we struggle with on a daily basis. A tension exists between the excitement of new experiences and the manner in which living continually in a foreign context takes a toll on you. Of course, having only been in this reality a little over a month, I’m just beginning to understand this dynamic. As of now, most challenges seem interesting and even comical.

But as difficulties begin to compound, the goal becomes investing time and love into my community until what now feels foreign becomes familiar — until strangers become friends, suspicion becomes trust, and Huaricolca, one of nine districts in the province of Tarma in Peru, becomes my home.

So how do I share what the last month and half of life in Peru has been like? Adequately sharing about my life here to my family and friends in the U.S. has been difficult. Not because of my life here is spectacular but because explanations and stories lack the depth of real experience. And in my community, I am the only person experiencing daily events from my white, male, middle class American cultural perspective. There’s only one gringo in town — it’s me!

Many things I find beautiful, captivating, hilarious, scary, or disgusting are often seen differently by locals. Not always, we connect on many levels. Yet sometimes I want to nudge the person next to me and say (in English of course), “Did that really just happen?” I want to encapsulate the moment, image, or event and program it into the Adventures in Odyssey “Imagination Station” so that others can relive it with me.

But time doesn’t work that way; we are forever in the present. In my understanding of time, the present is all that exists. The past is frustratingly unchangeable and the future untouchable.

Perhaps this is one reason we are drawn to taking photos, and one reason I want to share some photos from the community here. We click, grasping at a moment trying to capture its fullness, trying not to let it escape.

While I might be the last one to request a picture back home, in Peru I find myself pulling out my cell phone, attempting to hold on to an image or a moment. When I see my elderly neighbor knitting in her field, and I know she’s been there for hours — when the primary school students swarm me at recess because I’ve made a coin “disappear” — when someone at a graduation hands you a sleeping baby — when your host grandpa tells you an ancient story, I want to guard the moment and share it with someone else.

While they can be powerful, I also think photos can detract from the very moment we are trying desperately to preserve or share. A device now stands between you and that which you are experiencing, separating subject and object. Perhaps this is a false dichotomy, as a good photographer has a way of negating this separation and using the device to draw closer to the moment. Yet as someone who is not a photographer, I do feel that something of the moment is lost when viewed through my cell phone screen.

Photos often portray the best of life and leave the reality of pain and struggle behind. Look no farther than social media, where photos are used to either depict beauty and success or sensationalize suffering and pain. I have done the same, even in this blog and this very post. When I wake up at 3 a.m. with diarrhea, my first thought is not to capture the moment forever (although sometimes the PC doctors do need photos!). When another community member asks me if I’m an hermano (brother in Christ/evangelical/missionary) or a Mormon and I wonder if anyone knows why I’m here or what Cuerpo de Paz (Peace Corp) means, I don’t take a selfie to commemorate the moment. In other words, these photos fall short of reality.

It looks like I have managed to philosophize about photos, while saying very little about my time here. Yet trying to live moment by moment in gratitude has been the story of my time here so far.

With many preoccupations, distractions, and challenges, for me success is trying to live in each moment, being grateful, and giving my best for this community and country. Sounds cheesy but it’s the only way. And for me, gratitude is an appreciation of all of life as a gift from God, something to be lived and felt to the fullest, whether joy or struggle.

Stay tuned for Part 2.

****Disclaimer: “The content of this website is mine alone and does not necessarily reflect the views of the U.S. Government, the Peace Corps, or the Peruvian Government.”

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