Day 11: Independence Day

I am lucky to be in Peru for this time of year, because today is Independence Day. In some ways, Independence Day in Peru is similar to the Fourth of July back home. On July 28, 1821, Peru declared its independence from Spain. Like the situation between the United States of America and England in 1776, Peru finally got fed up with being ruled by another country. It wanted its sovereignty, which it fought bravely for. Peru actually gained formal independence three years later, in 1824 (it took the USA a little bit longer than that). General Jose de San Martin, from Argentina, was pivotal in winning freedom for Peruvians.

Peruvian Independence Day is a two day affair, with both July 28th and 29th reserved as national holidays. The celebrations begin after a 21 cannon salute at dawn and President Alan Garcia’s State Address on the morning of July 28th. He speaks to the nation about the country’s overall progress in the past year. This day specifically commemorates Peru’s independence won by General de San Martin. Also, the Archbishop of Lima presides over a Mass at the Cathedral in downtown Lima that national dignitaries, including the President, attend. There are celebrations throughout the country, including parades and fiestas.

On July 29th, there is a military parade in which members from all branches of the Peruvian military march through Lima.

I am constantly surprised and inspired by the pride that Peruvians have in their country. The city is decorated in red and white, the two colors of the Peruvian flag. The energy within Lima is certainly palpable, and I cannot wait to partake in the festivities.

Here are some fun facts about Peru. I think this is a perfect day for that:

• Every household and office building is required to fly the Peruvian flag on Independence Day. Great idea!
• All Peruvian adults are given a national identification card and they are required to vote in presidential elections. If they don't, they get fined. Why can’t we do this in America? We need people to be more involved in our electoral process.
• Peru is about the size of Alaska. I had no idea it was so big.
• Peru has the world’s driest desert, but the country still provides 20% of the world’s fresh water.
• Peru is the largest silver-producer in the world.
• While Peru does not produce the largest amount of cocaine (that distinction goes to Colombia), it is the largest exporter of the drug.
• All firefighters are volunteers.
• Peru is 60% jungle, 30% highlands (Andes), and 10% coastal desert.

Felices Fiestas Patrias!

Day 10: A New Face

Today was washing day again today. Over the last 10 days, I have gotten to know a good deal about the children that I work with. I have learned about their personalities, likes, dislikes, and habits. Each is unique, with a certain set of quirks. Sometimes, I feel like the kids are predictable, as I can guess what they want or figure out what they are going to do. In the washroom, L.C. was the first patient that I had to dry after his bath and cloth. I knew who L.C. was prior to this, but I hadn’t worked with him closely before. So, now it was my turn to learn about him.

L.C. has autism. I don’t know about the entire spectrum of autistic disorders; however, L.C.’s case certainly is not mild. He does not speak at all. Nor does he normally show a great deal of emotion. When I was drying his body with the standard white towel that had his name written with a Sharpie on the tag, he just wasn’t there. His face was blank, giving me the impression that he was deep within his own thoughts, not having the ability to deal with what was outside his own mind. He was completely unresponsive, even as I spoke to him in Spanish, trying to coax a smile, or any other emotion, for that matter. After I put his diaper on, I picked him up so that he would stand up on his feet on the changing table. He obliged, but still had the same expression on his face. I picked up one of legs so that I could put the first leg of his pants on. He placed his hand on my shoulder for balance, but didn’t actually acknowledge me. I could have been a statue for all he cared. After the pants, he lifted his arms so that I could put his T-shirt and sweater on. After that, I tried to tickle him a little, just another attempt for a response. No luck. So, I sat him down on the side of the changing table, his legs dangling off the side. I put his socks on, and then his shoes.

And then I sensed a change, maybe just a subtle one, but a change nonetheless. As he was sitting there, he held out his arms to me. He wanted me to carry him. This was what I had been waiting for. I grabbed him into my arms, sliding him off of the table. He immediately wrapped his hands around my neck and his legs around my waist, tightly. The pressure was intense. And then he put his cheek on my shoulder, resting. His chest leaned against mine. I could literally feel his heart beating right along with mine. Just for a moment, I felt as if this child were mine. His condition was my condition, his hurts were my hurts, and his feelings were my feelings. It was one of the best moments of my time here, maybe even longer than that. Mother Maria saw me and told me that L.C. could walk, that I didn’t need to carry him. But I wasn’t going to give this moment up.

I carried L.C. towards the area where all of the children congregate in the mornings. The noise in the area was loud, the children yelling or crying. I was able to deduce that L.C. did not like this noise. His body tightened up and he lifted his head from my shoulder. He wanted to get down. He probably wanted to be as far away from the noise as possible, but I was only bringing him closer to it. My mind raced back to my Behavioral Medicine class in school. Autistic children often become set off by different stimuli, stimuli that wouldn’t bother the everyday person. They can react in various ways ranging from crying, screaming, violence against self or others, complete withdrawal from the stimulus itself, etc. Autistic children, above all else, crave a feeling of safety. If they feel secure, they calm down. One way to simulate a feeling of safety is to make them feel that they are in a small place. That way, not much can be around them that could potentially hurt them. So, as he got upset while hearing the noise, I squeezed him tightly, trying to make him feel that he was safe. And within a few seconds, I felt his body relax. All of the muscles released their tension. He calmed down and put his cheek back on my shoulder, the feeling of closeness restored.

I wound up spending the whole day with L.C. I eventually let him walk on his own. He gains pleasure from just walking around, exploring his surroundings at the Home. We walked through all parts of the compound. I let him lead the way. At one point, we walked into the chapel of the Home. I don’t know why, but he sat down in one of the pews and stared blankly ahead. He didn’t motion towards me, but I just sat down next to him and watched him. I tried to figure out what possibly could be going on in his mind. The possibilities could be endless. Outwardly, L.C., as other autistic children, appeared to be a simple person. But we don’t really know what goes on inside. I hope to be able to spend more time with L.C. It would be a great experience for me to learn more about him.

Day 9: Spiritual Needs

“Being unwanted, unloved, uncared for, forgotten by everybody, I think that is a much greater hunger, a much greater poverty than the person who has nothing to eat.”

- Mother Teresa

When I originally read this quote several years ago, I simply glanced over it and called it a nice sentiment. However, now that I know and understand the mission of her order, the full meaning and weight of the statement is clear to me. For the last week, I have volunteered at Mother Teresa’s Home for the Dying and Destitute here in Lima (she opened many more of them around the world). Everyone who lives at this hospice has been abandoned. Just as Mother Teresa said, they are unwanted, unloved, uncared for, and forgotten - until of course, they cross the threshold into the Home. I cannot help but feel that Mother Teresa had these Homes in mind when she made this statement.

As I have written about before, everyone who lives in the town of La Victoria where the Home is located is plagued by absolute poverty. They have almost no money or resources to care for themselves and their families. They have no opportunities for advancement. Consequently, the inhabitants of La Victoria have lost all hope. They do not try to make life better because, after all, where would they start? And yet, through it all, there is something worse than that according to Mother Teresa. Food, water, clothing, and shelter are necessities in the physical world. They maintain the positive functioning of our bodies. However, some day, all of us will leave our physical bodies in the form of a mortal death. What Mother Teresa was worried about was our souls, the mental and spiritual aspects of our lives. According to the Catholic faith, a soul is eternal, even after the physical body dies. Therefore, it is of utmost importance to nurture our souls, make sure they are taken care of. If this does not occur, we lose our sense of direction, in a way. If nobody wants us, loves us, or cares for us, then why live this life? Imagine how I would feel if I were abandoned completely. Imagine how you would feel if you were abandoned completely. It’s a dull, throbbing pain that leaves behind a sense of emptiness. You feel like you don’t belong.

That is what everyone at Mother Teresa’s Home felt before they lived there. Their lives were filled with a hopelessness that was far worse and more pressing than physical poverty (which, of course, is also extremely difficult). Mother Teresa’s Order of nuns does whatever they can to fulfill the spiritual needs of both the children and the adults who reside at the Home. At the same time, they attempt to provide basic physical needs in the forms of food, clothing, and healthcare (in the forms of physical and occupational therapists, and a part-time infirmary physician). It is clearly evident, just by simple observation, that the nuns pour their entire hearts into the work that they do for the residents. That is their reason for existence, without a doubt. I can speak most about their interactions with the children on the second floor of the Home, because I have worked there the most so far. The nuns look at the children with a fondness in their eyes that I have only witnessed in one specific instance before - the love of a mother for her baby when he or she is first born. A look into the innocent eyes of a baby in the maternity ward (by a mother) or the glance of a nun into the face of one of the disabled children is all it takes. At that moment, all you can observe is unconditional love. From that moment, you know that the mother (or in this case, the nun) will do whatever it takes to make sure that that child is taken care of.

Another quote by Mother Teresa is as follows: “Every time you smile at someone, it is an action of love, a gift to that person, a beautiful thing.” In many instances, a simple smile is all that it takes to brighten the days of the children at the Home, even if they are not always able to respond. It is a gesture that shows you care, that you have a vested interest in the well-being of that person.

On Friday, Mother Maria asked me if I would help to bathe and dress the children again. The volunteers who normally do that job were not in that day. I was the only person in the building who had done that before, even if only once. Mother Maria told me that I had experience, so she could use my help again. This is just one testament as to how much help the nuns need at the Home. All volunteers are graciously welcomed, because there is always work to do. This also reminds me of a rather sobering fact. The nuns could do so much more for these children only if they had more resources in terms of volunteer manpower. In effect, their work is being held back. Now, I realize that international volunteering is not for everyone. It certainly requires a specific mindset geared towards the betterment of the world community, as well as a large amount of mental preparation. But I urge everyone to consider it. It is a life-changing experience.

When I was clothing one child the other day, he looked directly at me and smiled. It was only a simple gesture, but a powerful one at that. I feel it was his way of saying thank you. If Mother Teresa was right, then that smile was an act of love. In some way, perhaps the child knew that I was helping him and wanted to acknowledge that fact. I couldn’t help but smile back. For those of you who know me well, I have not been a huge fan of children in the past. But I must admit that I have come to care for these children very deeply in the past week. I always look forward to the next day when I get to them again. I do not even want to think of how I will react when I have to leave them in three weeks to go back home.

Already, I feel like I have gotten so much more out of this experience that I have contributed. I am discovering a sense of compassion for children that I never knew I had. Maybe it just takes an experience like this to realize that. I can only hope that my volunteer work will benefit the people that I work with, even in a small way.

On Sunday, I went to Mass at Iglesia de Santo Domingo in Downtown Lima. I was clearly the only American in the church, so I was definitely conspicuous. At the end of Mass, a Peruvian man approached me and started a conversation with me in Spanish. I surprised myself because I was able to understand him and reply, even if in simple sentences. He seemed very interested me and wanted to know a little bit about me. I guess there aren’t a ton of tourists in Lima. He asked me where I was from, how long I was going to be here, and what I was doing while I was here. When I told him I was working with disabled children in La Victoria, he held out his hand to shake mine and said, “Thank you and welcome to Peru. We need people like you here in Lima.” Maybe I actually will make a difference...

Days 5 and 6: Car Rides

Every morning during the week, the 10 volunteers that work at Mother Teresa’s Home file into the van at 7:45 AM. Jorge, our driver, always puts on the radio, but he likes variety. The first few days, he blasted Peruvian music, which I enjoyed. It was a good way to understand more about the place that I am calling my “temporary home”. Jorge played American pop music on the next two days, probably just to make the rest of the riders happy. Today, he played hard rock. Quite the mix, if I can say so myself.

For the first few minutes upon entering the van, we listen to the music and chat amongst ourselves, mostly about the day ahead. Very quickly, however, the van gets quiet. All eleven of us, Jorge included, become silent. Jorge lowers the volume on the radio. This does not happen because we don’t have anything to say to each other. In fact, we always have new topics to talk about because we all come from different places in the world. We like to learn about each other and what our lives are like back in our actual homes. So no, that is not the reason for the silence. Instead, we all use the majority of the car ride to examine our surroundings. Even though we see the same things everyday on our way to the Home, it certainly does have some sort of spellbinding effect. This city, this country, is so much different from anything that we have experienced in our home countries (USA, Canada, and Australia).

The first thing that I notice during the car ride is very numerous campaign posters plastered over billboards and buildings. This October, Peru will be holding presidential elections to replace incumbent President Alan Garcia. No one political party has a clear road to victory, however. There are over twenty individuals from as many parties running for president. This is extremely different from the (mainly) two party system that is in place in the United States. The campaign posters here seem overwhelmingly centered on personal attacks on each other, rather than about their own platforms. I guess that happens a lot in the U.S. too. However, Peruvian politics takes attacks to a new level. One ad reads, in Spanish, “If he wins, all of Peru loses.” Another reads, “He is the devil.” When I saw this second ad, my jaw dropped, just because that is a phrase that would never be tolerated in American politics. Of course, these ads are only very superficial looks at the candidates. I would have to look up each individual candidate to actually learn about them. But I’m not sure that would be useful either, as I won’t be in Peru when the election actually takes place.

No matter anyone’s political affiliation in Peru, everyone seems to have a great sense of national pride, which I find very refreshing. Almost everyone, from rich to poor, flies Peruvian flags in their homes, businesses, and car windows. They identify with Peru distinctly. This is there home, and they work to make sure that this does not change. Their national identity makes them part of who they are; this is the same in other countries as well. Peru - the country, culture and society - is integral to these people. They cannot imagine a life in which there was no Peru for them. Even more intriguing is the fact that I have only seen Peruvian flags while here. I have not seen flags from any other nations. That makes sense because Peru is not a nation of immigrants at its core. Obviously, this is a big difference from America, where people flock from almost every country around the world and display those countries’ flags. Of course, they should also fly American flags, since that is the place that they now call home, and that doesn’t always happen. Many times, immigrants make very good lives for themselves and live the American Dream, but refuse to fly the American flag. I’m missing the connection there. Of course, I have no problem when people fly the flags of their countries of origin, so long as they also fly the American flag. I think that is reasonable. But I digress.

The traffic in this city is worse than I have ever seen. And I can guarantee that this is a significant statement because I deal with New York City traffic on a regular basis. Other than personal cars, taxis are the main mode of transportation in Lima. The city certainly has more taxis that Manhattan does, but I would never have believed it if I didn’t see it for myself. The cabs have no meters. Instead, when getting into a cab, you can bargain for a set price to get to your destination. This price for cab rides is extremely inexpensive here. The other day, I traveled by taxi to Miraflores. The ride took 25 minutes, but I only paid 15 Nuevo Soles. That’s less than $6 American. That ride would have cost close to $30 American in New York City. Also, the quality of driving here is atrocious and truly scary. I have never seen drivers take more risks than drivers do here. When stopping at red lights, they get closer to each other than I am comfortable with. They weave in an out of lanes like speeding rockets. (Just as an aside... if you plan on crossing the main streets in Lima, be prepared to play some Frogger for a horrifying adrenaline rush.) The pare signs (stop signs) also appear to bear no meaning. I have yet to see any car, taxi, or bus even slow down when approaching a pare sign, never mind stop. I absolutely promise never to complain of my mom’s “crazy driving” in the future. I know, Mom, I know.

And then of course is the change between upper and lower class neighborhoods, which I have written about in a previous post. On a walk around town, you can be in a nice, luxurious neighborhood on one street. However, when crossing the street to the other side, all bets are off. The change is that utterly sudden.

Stray dogs abound in Lima, a fact that truly breaks my heart. Most do not have owners. They roam around the streets begging or searching for scraps of food. They walk in the streets, while cars zip by without notice. Jorge has told stories of dogs getting hit and killed. Most drivers in that situation never even stop. I suppose they don’t care, as if this was a way to cull the dog overpopulation. Those dogs that do have owners often don’t get the care that would be given them back home in America. Most people here do not consider dogs as pets or companions. Rather, they are used mostly as guard dogs. These dogs also search for scraps of food, because their owners do not feed them if they cannot afford dog food. Obviously, there is a difference in philosophy in terms of dogs between Peruvians and Americans. For us, they are pets, part of the family. That is not the case here, and while I understand the reasoning, it is still saddening.

On all of the main streets and highways, small street vendors sell fresh-squeeze juices, fruits, and candies. The bright colors of the vendor wagons are welcome contrasts to the gray clouds that almost always cover the sky. (Another side comment: If you ever come to Lima, do not eat fruit in which you personally cannot peel the skin off. Hygiene is still a pressing issue here.) Many people, including young children, walk in between cars and buses selling small treats or mini-Peruvian flags. I wonder why this children are not in school. Even though kids in the States are on summer vacation now, children here go to school now, because it is their winter. They have their big break in their summer months (around December and January). I believe some of these children walk the streets selling products because their parents are too poor to send them to school. They need the children to work as much as possible just to make enough money to put food on the table. In our culture, we put a high priority on education. That is our way of providing many opportunities for advancement in the future. Here, I get a feeling of emptiness when I see the children walking the streets. They are never going to have opportunities that children back home do. Are they going to spend the rest of their lives selling produce and candy on the streets? If not, where do they go from here? It is more than unsettling to think about the possibilities.

Lima is a very large, complex city. All of the things I have written about in this post can be seen in a car ride. But it could take years to absorb it all and understand the intricacies that shroud the city. I have four weeks here in total, definitely not long enough. I guess I just have to soak up as much as possible while I can.

Day 4: Contrasts

The definition of contrast is:

1. One thing that is strikingly dissimilar to another.

2. A difference, especially a strong dissimilarity, between entities or objects being compared.

Synonyms: distinction, differentiation, counterpoint

One reason that I love to travel is a strong desire to learn about the way of life, the heartbeat, of places that I am not familiar with. If you learn the culture of a certain place and the people who call it home, you are able to relate to it. The concept of understanding is important and should never be understated. Mutual understanding is the cornerstone of all positive social interactions. I guess that is one idea that CCS also espouses, which is probably why I identify with the program closely.

Observing the sites and the people has been a big part of my trip to Lima so far. I believe it will give me a good base for becoming an active part of society while I am here. Being a tourist, an outsider, does not interest me. If I actively separate myself from them, then I really don't see why I am here. Being on the inside is where all the action is.

Okay, that was a long introduction to what I actually want to write about today. I guess I could say that I wrote such a long intro to my beliefs because I want my readers (my few readers) to know my beliefs. After all, you are reading my blog; you shouldn't be an outsider here.

The most striking thing that I have noticed in Lima is contrasts in living conditions. Let me show you one photo first:

This is a photo of Plaza de Armas, the main square in Downtown Lima. This area of town is posh. The richest of the rich live here. Homes and offices were built in elaborate styles that range from classical to colonial to baroque. Men and women walk around in business suits. Luxury stores abound.

Just blocks away from this splendor, a shantytown begins. Literally out of nowhere, the grandiosity halts and poverty abounds. In some ways, it looks like a tornado rolled through Lima, but only destroying certain areas - the shantytowns.

Unfortunately, this is not an isolated occurrence. This disparity can be seen in almost every part of Lima. Here are two pictures from La Victoria, which is the town where I work at the Home:

In a way, this shouldn't surprise me. New York City has many varied neighborhoods that range from rich to middle class to poor. However, they all belong to certain defined areas in the city with clear demarcations in between. That is not the case here in Lima, where the rich live on top of the poor and vice versa. Also, in the States, many people believe in a "trickle down" economy where people who are more fortunate help those who are less fortunate. Obviously, I am one of those people , or I wouldn't be volunteering. In Peru, the trickle down concept does not seem to exist. Certainly, that is not the only way a society can be conducted satisfactorily, but I don't see much of anything "going right" here.

I realized these contrasts today when I made the transition from work to going on another trip around the city. Like I have said in previous posts, the residents of La Victoria live in absolute poverty. Working with them so closely for several hours a day helps me to enter their world and understand their circumstances. Once I left there after today's work, I went directly to Downtown Lima after lunch and was dumbfounded by the difference. I continue to have difficulty thinking about how this happened. Certainly, I said to myself, this cannot be fair.

The individuals who are wealthy and the people who live in absolute poverty do not seem to cooperate with each other. I feel as if the fortunate have turned a blind eye on those who are less fortunate and choose to pretend that they are not there. The concept, "The greatest good for the smallest number", seems to apply here. Or maybe there is a part of this culture that I just haven't come to understand yet. Only time will tell. But things could be better.

Day 3: Mother Teresa and Miraflores

As soon as I entered Mother Teresa's Home today, I immediately went to find Omar. I had such an eye-opening, yet amazing, experience helping to perform therapy on the disabled teenagers yesterday, and I was ready to jump right in again. However, as soon as I walked up the flight of stairs to the second floor, I was stopped dead in my tracks by something straight out of my past. My mind immediately backtracked to my childhood elementary school, and more notably, its principal. Sister Ann was a tough nun, who didn't give anyone an ounce of slack. I vividly remember not feeling well one day at school, when I was in the first grade. Mrs. Paterak, my saint of a teacher, told me to go to the office to call my mom. When I walked into the principal's office, with the crucifix hanging on the wall, Sister Ann was right before me. She told me that I could not call my mom unless I gave her a quarter first. Yeah, I know. It sounds merciless. That's tough for a six year old.

I thought about that experience this morning when I reached the second floor, because my way was blocked by none other than a nun. My heart stopped for a split second. My immediate thoughts were, "What did I do? Please don't yell at me!" Luckily, my fear was for naught. She was a sweet old nun, directly in the fashion of Mother Teresa. In her broken English, she begged me to help bathing and clothing some of the boys before going to help with physical therapy. Of course, I would never say no to a nun. That would save me a seat with the wrong Big Guy when this life is over. Regardless, I am happy to help the workers at the Home with whatever they need. That's what I am there for.

And it became another one of those situations where my prior mental preparations were useless. As soon as I entered the large bathroom and changing area, which was unbearably cold because the whole compound is exposed to the outside, a man named Soyer (the man who bathed the boys) slung a wet, shivering teenager into my arms. The weight of the boy didn't unsettle me. The surprise of the moment did. Out of nowhere, I had a soaking wet boy in my arms, crumpled into the fetal position, shivering from the cold. The boy, who I will call M., has cerebral palsy. His arms and legs were thinner than any human limbs I have ever seen before. He looked at me, right into my eyes. He could not speak, but his eyes begged me to place him on the table and dry him. He was freezing. I placed him onto the changing table, grabbed a dry towel, and dried M. off more vigorously than I would normally have. He just looked so cold. And I realized that it was up to me to change that.

And then I had to dress him. This isn't something that any person would generally think of in a normal day, but it is extremely difficult to dress a disabled child who is almost eternally locked into the fetal position. But I had to learn on the spot, and quickly at that, because there were more kids coming.

Six or seven kids later, I was done. It took a total of about two hours, which is probably a long time (but I really can't compare it to anything else). The experience once again showed me how dependent the people at the Home are on those that care for them. Even the most menial, everyday tasks cannot be accomplished without help. But it feels good, as if I am getting something positive done here.

After the washing and clothing extravaganza, Sister came looking for me. This time, my heart didn't skip a beat. She didn't have to say much. First, she thanked me, but I said, "De nada. Con mucho gusto." That is, after all, what I am here for. But then she lowered her head as if embarrassed, gave me a half smile and asked, "Manana, otra vez?" ("Tomorrow, again?")

"Si Madre, manana." I guess I have a date...

(Just as an aside, I went on my first Lima excursion today. I visited a tourist hotspot called Miraflores, which is a beautiful part of town. There are two pictures attached. The first is some scenery from Miraflores. The second is of some school children and I in the town where I live (Surco)).

Day 2: First Day at Hogar Senora de la Paz

I am rapidly realizing that life is a long list of anomalies strung together to keep everyone guessing. Each and every one of us thinks that we have figured out life at one point or other. We believe that it is straightforward, predictable. We know what's coming, in a sense, because that is what prior experience has taught us. How much is left in this "small world" of ours that we haven't already gone through personally, or at least heard about?

But we haven't figured life out. No matter our age or amount of exposure, we probably haven't figured out a tenth of what life can deal us. It has its ways of throwing curveballs to make sure that we are left in the dark, so to speak. Because in the end, if we knew everything that life had to offer, then what's the point of living it. No element of surprise, no fun.

I just had one of those "lights out" moments today. My life pulled all the plugs and made me start from scratch. When I signed up for a program with CCS, I mentally prepared myself as best I could. I knew that I would be dealing with absolute poverty. For those of you who don't know, absolute poverty is defined as a situation in which a family of four lives on less that $1 per day. Less that a dollar. That's the equivalent of one quarter per person. It's hard to fathom. You read about it and talk about it. You know that's it out there, even though it is not close to home. I thought that I could deal with it, brush it off my shoulder in order to move on and do my work here in Peru. But I was wrong. The reality of absolute poverty is in stark contrast to what we think we know from a distance.

My volunteer placement is called Hogar Senora de la Paz. Its rough translation is the Fireplace of Our Lady of Peace. It is also called Mother Teresa's Home for the Dying and Destitute. Mother Teresa chose four sites in Peru to open hospices in the early 1970s. The site where I volunteer is in a part of Lima called La Victoria. This is a town where absolute poverty has taken hold. The people here are so utterly poor that they have given up. They have stopped fighting to improve their lives because they have lost hope. Opportunities for them in Lima are nonexistent. They spend their days on the street, walking around aimlessly, sometimes asking for spare change. Some people sell produce and textiles, but their success is extremely limited. Stray dogs, bones bulging from malnutrition, roam the streets, digging through trash to find scraps. And then I got to Hogar Senora de la Paz.

Mother Teresa's Home for the Dying and Destitute is a hospice. The first floor of the facility houses over 100 adult males, mostly elderly, who have various physical and mental disabilities. But through it all, they are some of the most joyful people I have met in my entire life. They immediately introduced themselves to me and my fellow volunteers and thanked us for being there. Some of them even danced in the hallways as they were going about their daily routines.

Even though the elderly men had obvious disabilities that hindered them, it was nothing compared to what I witnessed on the second floor, the floor where I eventually learned that I would be volunteering on. This floor was designated for the children in the facility, all of them boys. They range in age from toddlers to post-adolescents. The vast majority are confined to wheelchairs, afflicted by terrible conditions such as cerebral palsy and quadriplegia. Many also have mental disabilities, only adding to the difficulties that they face. All of these children are a byproduct of the community that surrounds them. Their mothers were too poor to receive adequate, if any, prenatal care while they were pregnant. Once these children were born, and their parents realized their disabilities, they abandoned them at the hospital. While I understand that caring for a child that has such significant disabilities requires large amounts of time, money, resources, and emotional stamina, I cannot find a way to justify abandoning a baby at a hospital without even a word's notice.

And this is where the story really gets bad. Not even the hospitals have the resources to care for these children or find them someplace else to receive care. Instead, Mother Teresa's nuns walk around La Victoria, searching for the destitute. Once they are found, they are invited to live at Hogar Senora de la Paz. The nuns know that they cannot cure these individuals. They do whatever they can, however, to make the quality of life for the patients more humane than before. It is their way of becoming closer to God. I certainly hope that God has a special seat waiting for these nuns when their time comes. They are saints.

And so, I was recruited to work with the children, who depend on the nuns and volunteers because everyone else in their lives abandoned them. When I first realized the depth of the situation, the air was knocked out of my lungs. Like I said, I thought I had mentally prepared myself for this journey before I left the States for Peru. But nothing short of first-hand experience could prepare me for this.

Today, I worked with a physical therapist who sees teenaged patients. I saw fours patients with him today. They all had either hemiplegia or quadriplegia. They also had mental disabilities. None of them could speak. In many ways, their bodies as well as their brains have failed them. They are only shells of what could have been. It is difficult to sit back and think about what their potential could have evolved into if they had been given more opportunities in the past. Unfortunately, for most of the patients, we will never know.

The work was extremely hands-on. The physical therapist immediately had me on the therapy mats, sitting next to the patients, manipulating arm and leg muscles to try to stretch them out. It is the only way to combat the atrophy of muscles that these patients experience. I was also asked to massage each child's face with cream. Once again, it is a good way to stretch their facial muscles. But even more importantly, it helps them to relax. The physical therapy is extremely painful for them, even though they cannot express it in words. Only their cries gave me clues as to what they were feeling. The facial massage was the only way to take their minds off the painful therapy that they experience.

Surprisingly, giving the massages was also beneficial for me. I couldn't bond with the patients through speech, but I was able to feel a connection through direct physical contact. It is this type of connection that I hope to facilitate throughout my time here in Peru. The stark reality is that these children do not have homes to go back to. They do not have mothers or fathers who wait with open arms to see their child at the end of the day. They only have the nuns and the volunteers. So, it is up to us to give them the love and attention that they so desperately need and deserve. Maybe that is life's curveball in this situation. Maybe that's the lesson to learn...

Lima, Peru: Day 1

Ok, so after a long day of traveling that started very early this morning, I am finally in Lima. As I write this, I am sitting in the CCS Lima Home Base, which is where all of the volunteers live together for the duration of their work in the country. It's been a long time since I last sat in a common room with others that are my age and have come together for a specific cause. And I have to admit, it's a great feeling. Even though I have just met some of my fellow volunteers, I automatically feel a sense of camaraderie.

The air is fairly laid back. We are all getting to know each other, mentally preparing for the work that is ahead of us starting tomorrow. We will all be working in different fields in a shantytown in Lima called Villa el Salvador. Some will be teaching English to children, others working in health centers. Yet others will be working towards women's empowerment or working in a daycare center for the elderly. All of these volunteer sites will be emotionally and spiritually stressful, especially in the beginning. There is a "learning curve", so we have been told.

My volunteer placement is a hospice that was originally founded by Mother Teresa's nuns. The hospice is home to over 50 children and many more adult males. All of these individuals are severely disabled. Their illnesses are severe enough for all of them to be abandoned by their friends and family. I cannot comprehend how a person can be completely left behind by the only people they know. But that is the unfortunate reality when poverty surrounds a city's inhabitants. My tasks will be to help feed, change, and interact with the patients at the hospice. I will also be able to take vital signs when working with the infirmary physician. I wonder how I will react to the surroundings at my volunteer site. This work will certainly test my ability to work with those who are utterly and completely dependent on help from strangers.

I have already witnessed great differences here in Lima as compared to home in New York. Both are large metropolitan areas, but one has rampant poverty that I have never seen before. In Lima, many peoples' homes are built of scraps - nothing more and nothing less. This is especially evident on the outskirts of the city, where the Andes Mountains begin. This city is home to some 9 million people. Many people literally live on top of each other. However, this cannot be avoided due to the poverty that many people find themselves in. Yet others parts of Lima are rich and plush, in stark contrast to the poverty that I witnessed on the ride from the airport.

This trip will certainly be an adventure. It will be a chance for personal growth while also facilitating small changes in the lives of individual people. I pray for success, not only for me but for my fellow volunteers and for those that we will be serving.

Volunteer abroad or at home? Does it really matter?

One question that I had to answer for myself when I began searching for volunteer opportunities was why to volunteer abroad. There are numerous volunteer opportunities, and vast amounts of people that need help, right here in America. I told myself, in the beginning, that I should work first with those in my own country because they are "closest" to me, in simple terms. My national pride told me that this was the right thing to do - help yourself and your own; help others later. This seemed like a good idea with sound logic, until I listened to CNN's Larry King interview the Dalai Lama.

The interview took place shortly after the disastrous earthquake in Haiti in January of this year. At one point, Mr. King asked the Dalai Lama if he believed that he was especially influential because he is a top leader in Buddhism. The Dalai Lama's response made my previously presumed "sound logic" to be completely wrong. He said the following: "I am a simple Buddhist monk. I am a human being, just one of 6 billion. On a fundamental level, we are all the same."

We are all human. We are all the same. I came to the realization that this is completely true when you look at the argument in the most basic terms. On a daily basis, it is easiest and most convenient to worry about ourselves and our well-being. And, when we have the opportunity, we help those that are directly around us because we see them, we know what their problems are. We are able to help those in our absolute vicinity because we know, through first-hand experience, what plagues them. At the same time, however, we ignore the problems of people around the world because we are not exposed to it. We have no vantage point. But if we listen to the Dalai Lama's wise words, that should not be an obstacle.

Each individual person can make small contributions to a large cause. When many people work towards a common accomplishment, the small contributions that each makes sums up to a tangible positive difference. Every little but helps. We are individuals, we lead our own lives. At the same time, however, we are not isolated. Even though we do not personally know everyone in the world, we share a sense of togetherness arising from the simple fact that we all live in this world right now. No matter what culture, nationality, ethnicity, race, sex, age, or orientation, we are all human. We are all one community. We are all one family.

Now, it is normal for people to look out for themselves and make sure that they are taken care of well. However, if you put on the blinders and only think of your own success, then what's the point? This isolation, to me at least, sounds cold and lifeless. If my success, whether it be monetary or otherwise, cannot help others in some way, then it truly isn't a success to me. This world has seemingly insurmountable difficulties that range from overpopulation to poor health care, and from poverty and hunger to global warming.

But of one thing I am convinced. Nothing is insurmountable if we band together. When I think about this on a more general level, I notice that all species of animals work together for a common good. Think of ants. They all work together to collect food and water to bring back to the colony. In the colony, the supplies are distributed equally to everyone (well, equal to all except the queen. She gets more so that she can continue building the colony's numbers). And yet, the supposed most-intelligent, highest-thinking species out there just hasn't gotten it right, at least not on a large scale. For the most part, we seek the highest good for the individual instead of the highest good for the community, the world community. More and more, I am convinced that if the world community, without boundaries, cannot exist, then neither can the individual.

The fact of the matter is, we live in an interdependent world. The United States, along with every other country, has conducted trade, waged wars, signed treaties, and given/received financial help. To pretend that we are isolated and don't communicate with others outside our direct vicinity is misguided.

And so, I decided to volunteer abroad. But, in the end, I'm still helping my community. I'm still working for the advancement of my own.