(Pics: 1st, Me hiding from the enemy. 2nd, Captured. 3rd, The water wars. 4th, Painting. 5th, Volunteers sanding a wall to be painted. 6th, Some of the children waiting for their flouride. 7th, Me, a dental hygienist for a day. 8th, A happy little customer.)February 20, 2009...
The Teacher Training course was officially over. I had until March 12 volunteering with Projects Abroad, living with the Valcarcel’s in Urubamba, eating amazing pizza for dinner, playing Set with Alejandra and Camila and braiding their hair, having conversaciones with Carla at the breakfast table.
My time in between the 20th and the 12th began that weekend…the weekend of the famed Carnavales, most notoriously and festively celebrated in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil. I wasn’t in Rio, I was in Urubamba with my family. And I couldn’t have asked for better. That Sunday the entire family; brother, sisters, children, cousins, in-laws, gathered at my abuelitos house about seven blocks away from where I lived. I spent the morning playing games with the girls and then there was a lunch feast in the garden, followed by the traditional treachery for commemorating Carnavales…water wars. I hid beneath the dining room table for the first half hour or so. A few of them teamed up to try to capture me. They would pick up the table and move it to try to extricate me from safety, but I would crawl back and fourth like a quick little crab, keeping myself covered and unattainable. They gave up eventually, and so I watched the water wars from my safe place, people sneaking up on each other with full buckets of water, drenching each other under a generous sun (thank God it was generous that day or I’m certain we all would have come down with pneumonia).
My success at escaping said treachery was limited, of course. Eventually they came back for me and managed to drag me out into the garden, where a full kiddy pool awaited me. Two of the guys picked me up by an arm and a leg each and flung me into the water.
Now properly soaked, the rest of the day was spent running around the yard or in the street or at the faucet with a bucket, loading ammo to further drench an unwitting family member or innocent passer-by. We all threw water on anyone dry; friend, relative, stranger, or otherwise. The street and yard were a war zone. It was a beautifully fun day which ended with pizza and a movie and an early sleep.
Monday would begin a new volunteer project. Community work. We returned to the school we’d been teaching at for the past six weeks to paint the four classrooms we’d occupied. While painting, for me, is already enjoyable and therapeutic in the way that you get to work away and feel stiffness in your fingers and shoulders and then stand back with your hands on your hips and sigh with exhaustion and say to yourself, triumphantly, I did that, it was made extra neat by the fact that it was done in a place where I’d achieved another kind of work prior. It felt like a special sort of closure.
We spent three days doing this, and could walk away from that school leaving 16 sparkling fresh Tiffany-blue walls behind us.
The fourth day was our first dental campaign. At a school in Chincherro, a town whose main strip is the town itself, a line of 63 children began to form at the door. They were smiling tentatively, beaming and yet timid as if they were standing at the entrance to Disneyland for the first time. Some of them had most of their teeth, most of them had just some of their teeth. Some had holes where teeth should be, some had black stumps where teeth should be, and nearly all, regardless of the hygienic state of their mouths, had fresh food particles floating around in there. Needless to say, it was no glamorous campaign. What did we do with these dilapidated mouths? We took q-tips, dipped them in fluoride, slathered it around tooth by tooth while the kids drooled all over themselves and our hands (thank goodness for rubber gloves), told them to go spit, and handed them toothbrushes. Sixty-three of them. But between approximately eight or nine of us volunteers, it only took from about 10:00am to 1:00pm. The following weekend was everything you already know about…dancing as much as possible in Cusco, sleeping as much as possible after all the dancing. And the following week was also the same as the previous. More painting. Different school. Exterior instead of interior. A handful of local women boiled us some potatoes and served them to us with cheese on a blanket on the school lawn to show their gratitude. They were actually really good. I ate two.
That same week we had two more dental campaigns, both at different schools with new smiling children (there was one who looked like he was going to cry and I would have hugged him if it wasn’t for all that drool).
The next several days would be my last in Cusco for a little while. I did a bit of job searching, signed the contract for the apartment I would soon share with Tyler, met up with as many friends as I could to say goodbye for now or goodbye forever, reserved a trek for two via the Salkantay trail to Machu Picchu, received an encouraging phone call…
…It was one of my last mornings in Urubamba. I had no work that week because all of the other volunteers had begun their next placements and I wasn’t put in one since three days teaching a class would be pointless. So, naturally, I was sleeping. Until Carla, my host mom, knocked on my door and said the phone was for me. It was Irazema, a staff member with Projects Abroad. And the conversation went something like this:
The Teacher Training course was officially over. I had until March 12 volunteering with Projects Abroad, living with the Valcarcel’s in Urubamba, eating amazing pizza for dinner, playing Set with Alejandra and Camila and braiding their hair, having conversaciones with Carla at the breakfast table.
My time in between the 20th and the 12th began that weekend…the weekend of the famed Carnavales, most notoriously and festively celebrated in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil. I wasn’t in Rio, I was in Urubamba with my family. And I couldn’t have asked for better. That Sunday the entire family; brother, sisters, children, cousins, in-laws, gathered at my abuelitos house about seven blocks away from where I lived. I spent the morning playing games with the girls and then there was a lunch feast in the garden, followed by the traditional treachery for commemorating Carnavales…water wars. I hid beneath the dining room table for the first half hour or so. A few of them teamed up to try to capture me. They would pick up the table and move it to try to extricate me from safety, but I would crawl back and fourth like a quick little crab, keeping myself covered and unattainable. They gave up eventually, and so I watched the water wars from my safe place, people sneaking up on each other with full buckets of water, drenching each other under a generous sun (thank God it was generous that day or I’m certain we all would have come down with pneumonia).
My success at escaping said treachery was limited, of course. Eventually they came back for me and managed to drag me out into the garden, where a full kiddy pool awaited me. Two of the guys picked me up by an arm and a leg each and flung me into the water.
Now properly soaked, the rest of the day was spent running around the yard or in the street or at the faucet with a bucket, loading ammo to further drench an unwitting family member or innocent passer-by. We all threw water on anyone dry; friend, relative, stranger, or otherwise. The street and yard were a war zone. It was a beautifully fun day which ended with pizza and a movie and an early sleep.
Monday would begin a new volunteer project. Community work. We returned to the school we’d been teaching at for the past six weeks to paint the four classrooms we’d occupied. While painting, for me, is already enjoyable and therapeutic in the way that you get to work away and feel stiffness in your fingers and shoulders and then stand back with your hands on your hips and sigh with exhaustion and say to yourself, triumphantly, I did that, it was made extra neat by the fact that it was done in a place where I’d achieved another kind of work prior. It felt like a special sort of closure.
We spent three days doing this, and could walk away from that school leaving 16 sparkling fresh Tiffany-blue walls behind us.
The fourth day was our first dental campaign. At a school in Chincherro, a town whose main strip is the town itself, a line of 63 children began to form at the door. They were smiling tentatively, beaming and yet timid as if they were standing at the entrance to Disneyland for the first time. Some of them had most of their teeth, most of them had just some of their teeth. Some had holes where teeth should be, some had black stumps where teeth should be, and nearly all, regardless of the hygienic state of their mouths, had fresh food particles floating around in there. Needless to say, it was no glamorous campaign. What did we do with these dilapidated mouths? We took q-tips, dipped them in fluoride, slathered it around tooth by tooth while the kids drooled all over themselves and our hands (thank goodness for rubber gloves), told them to go spit, and handed them toothbrushes. Sixty-three of them. But between approximately eight or nine of us volunteers, it only took from about 10:00am to 1:00pm. The following weekend was everything you already know about…dancing as much as possible in Cusco, sleeping as much as possible after all the dancing. And the following week was also the same as the previous. More painting. Different school. Exterior instead of interior. A handful of local women boiled us some potatoes and served them to us with cheese on a blanket on the school lawn to show their gratitude. They were actually really good. I ate two.
That same week we had two more dental campaigns, both at different schools with new smiling children (there was one who looked like he was going to cry and I would have hugged him if it wasn’t for all that drool).
The next several days would be my last in Cusco for a little while. I did a bit of job searching, signed the contract for the apartment I would soon share with Tyler, met up with as many friends as I could to say goodbye for now or goodbye forever, reserved a trek for two via the Salkantay trail to Machu Picchu, received an encouraging phone call…
…It was one of my last mornings in Urubamba. I had no work that week because all of the other volunteers had begun their next placements and I wasn’t put in one since three days teaching a class would be pointless. So, naturally, I was sleeping. Until Carla, my host mom, knocked on my door and said the phone was for me. It was Irazema, a staff member with Projects Abroad. And the conversation went something like this:
ME (groggy voice): Alo?
IRAZEMA: Hola Alanna. Que tal? Did you come into the office yesterday morning?
ME (still groggy): No.
IRA: Porque no?
ME: I didn’t know I was supposed to.
IRA: Okay. Can you come to the office this morning? Tim, our director, wants to speak with you.
ME (alert panic voice): Oh, okay. Ummm, yeah. I’ll get dressed and be there in fifteen minutes…
IRAZEMA: Hola Alanna. Que tal? Did you come into the office yesterday morning?
ME (still groggy): No.
IRA: Porque no?
ME: I didn’t know I was supposed to.
IRA: Okay. Can you come to the office this morning? Tim, our director, wants to speak with you.
ME (alert panic voice): Oh, okay. Ummm, yeah. I’ll get dressed and be there in fifteen minutes…
I was freaked out, wondering if I had done something wrong. I brushed my teeth and made myself look presentable enough to face a director, then walked over to see him. He motioned me into his office and gestured for me to take a seat, so I did. And as I did so, he seated himself, ostentatiously closing a manila file with my name on it. “I’ve heard good things about you,” he said and cracked a smile. I expected neither of those things to happen just then. I was expecting him to say I was fired from my volunteer work, three days before my end date. But it got even better from there. He told me what high regard my name had come with from the staff and that, because of this, he wanted to offer me a paid position with the organization. I was so stoked. The only drawback was that the job was in Urubamba, just when I would be moving to Cusco…After this first meeting there was a lot more in between stuff, emailing back and forth and what-not, but to make a long story short I ended up accepting a temporary six-week position which would begin after my travels. How perfect. God is good.
And my travels…wasn’t long now. Only three days left until my flight to Lima. Saying goodbye to my family was easy, since I knew I would see them again soon. I told them I’d be back often to visit and eat pizza.
And my travels…wasn’t long now. Only three days left until my flight to Lima. Saying goodbye to my family was easy, since I knew I would see them again soon. I told them I’d be back often to visit and eat pizza.
Alanna, I'm so happy for your fun experience. But the best part about it is how much you are taking it all in. Why on earth were you worried to hear bad news from your director? You're the most passionate and loving person I know! Anyways, I can't wait to share this blog with Cerisa cause she'll get a kick you were a dental hygenist:)
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