Day 27: I Continue On...

Day 27, my last day at Mother Teresa’s Home for the Dying and Destitute in Lima. My day to say goodbye to all of the people that I have been working with during the past fours weeks. After my first week here - that’s how long it took me to fall in love with these kids - I began to dread Day 27, wishing that it wouldn’t come. Because, truthfully, I would stay here if I could, at least for a little while. The children at Mother Teresa’s Home have instilled a passion in me that I didn’t know was there, and it is something that I would never wish to give up. The last four weeks have been a blur for me, zooming by all too quickly. I wish I could hold on, making sure to not let go. But there is an end to all good things, as the saying goes.

The early morning was the good part of the day for me. Just my normal routine, something that I have grown accustomed to. Playing with the kids and talking to them, even if they cannot reciprocate, is something that I value greatly. I am glad that I had the chance to do some of that today. I acted, in most ways, as if today was just another day. I didn’t allow myself to think of leaving for the day until just a few minutes before it was actually time to go. I suppose my unconscious was throwing out a defense mechanism, protecting me from what I didn’t want to have to do. I made beds, cleaned up, fed the kids, put them in bed for nap time... and then it was time. Time to make my rounds of goodbyes. I started first with the staff. Even though I have gotten to know them well and enjoy working with them immensely, I knew they would be the easy ones to say goodbye to. I cannot even begin to express how thankful they were for my help in the past four weeks. It truly makes me feel like I have accomplished something in Lima.

Saying goodbye to the kids was a whole other story. Even though I do not know what it feels like to say goodbye to your own children, I suppose this was something similar, particularly because I have played Mr. Mom for many of them during my stay. Parting from Andy, Maximo, and Hector was the most difficult for me. I have worked with them most closely in the last four weeks, so I have gotten to know them very well. I can only hope that they have gotten to know a little bit about me as well. I know that they noticed my presence and were grateful, in their own ways, of the time that I spent with them. I hope, though, that they will remember me. They left a very strong and tangible mark on me, and there is no way that I could ever forget them. They will always have a place in my heart as a remembrance of very fond memories. I cannot only hope that, one day, I will meet them again.

So, what have I accomplished? Sure, I took care of the necessities like clothing, bathing, and feeding. These, however, are all physical, tangible examples. What else have I done though, that has made my time worthwhile, both for me and the children? I’ve learned about them. I have thrown myself into becoming a part of their lives. I have learned their personalities, traits, and idiosyncrasies. I have taken a close look to see what they like and don’t like. This is a difficult task, seeing as how most of the children I worked with had severe disabilities and were unresponsive. However, they all have some way, subtle or not, to communicate - hand gestures, head movements, eye movements, sounds. I would experience a very warm feeling when I figured out something that they liked. Then, they would smile. And this normally unresponsive child, who you spend hours trying to please, lights up with joy without a second’s notice. For me, this is a time when the flashlight in my head goes off. At this moment, seeing a happy child in the midst of debilitating physical and mental disabilities, is a wonderful moment. It is at this time that you realize, “Wow, there is someone in there, in that mind. This is what I have been waiting to see.” I like to think that I have brought some brightness to their lives, just as they have done for me.

I have also learned a great deal about myself through this experience. That is one of the good things about an international volunteer experience with a program like CCS; not only do you have the opportunity to help those that are less fortunate, but you also gain a great deal of satisfaction (while also learning new things about yourself). I have realized that I have a tolerance and compassion for children that I never would have imagined that I have. Before coming to Peru, I avoided many children, either because I didn’t know what they wanted, or just because I didn’t want to deal with them. That has now changed, and I cannot imagine a life for myself that does not include large amounts of interaction with kids. I also realized that I have a certain sense of bravery that allowed me to commit my mind and heart, jump in, and see where the journey takes me. I knew that this would be best for the kids that I worked with because I was completely giving myself to them and their needs. This also helped when learning about the Peruvian culture. There is nothing like a complete immersion to help you learn about new people. I have also tested my resolve during this adventure, and have come up with positive results. Through some research, I have found another Home for the Destitute and Dying run by Mother Teresa’s nuns in the South Bronx. As soon as I return home, I will begin pursuing volunteer opportunities at that facility. Mother Teresa’s cause has become very important to me. The work that the nuns perform is truly inspiring and fulfilling. I would love to continue on this journey with them.

Most importantly, I have learned that my journey to Peru as a “voluntourist” doesn’t actually end today. My mentality and experiences will stay with me and affect my future endeavors. I could never thank everyone at Cross-Cultural Solutions and Mother Teresa’s Home (especially the children) enough for allowing me to enter their lives, even if just for a brief glimpse. So, yes, my time in Lima has come to an end. I will be spending three days in Cusco and Machu Picchu before returned home on Wednesday. But even though I will be leaving Peru, my journey continues. My very first post on this blog was titled, “A beginning...”. This blog post is not titled, “An ending...”. Rather, I continue on...

Day 24: Bonds

Bathing day today. And I knew it long before I got there. That shows me how comfortable I have gotten with working at Mother Teresa’s. Well... comfortable is the wrong word. I could only be truly comfortable with the type of work that I do, with the disabilities I encounter everyday, if I completely block it out or just go with the motions. I could be comfortable if I didn’t think about it, make believe it wasn’t real. But that’s not me. I am trying to take in every second of time that I have at the Home, because my time here is very quickly coming to an end. After today’s volunteer hours, I only have three days left at Mother Teresa’s. I thoroughly enjoy learning everything that I can while here, from the children’s disabilities to their personalities, and from the Spanish language to the Peruvian culture. I have thrown myself into this experience, and it has certainly been one of the most rewarding endeavors of my life. So, no, I am not exactly comfortable. But I enjoy working at the Home so much that I can’t imagine that I will be going back to life as normal in just a week’s time. It will be nice to be home, to see my family and friends, my dogs, and my colleagues, but it hasn’t quite sunk in yet, especially when compared to the amount of help that is needed here.

I guess the best way to explain my “comfort” at the Home is to say that I have gotten accustomed to my surroundings. As I said, it was bathing day today, and I knew it way ahead of time. I have completely memorized the schedule at the Home, and I know where I am needed most, what I should be doing at specific times. As soon as I get there in the morning on Tuesdays and Fridays (there is a different schedule almost everyday), I help bath and dress the kids. That takes about an hour and a half. At 10 AM, I help transfer food from the downstairs kitchen and prepare the kids’ plates for lunch. At 10:30, it's lunchtime, and I help to feed the kids. Depending on which child I feed, I may or may not walk away with spit up food on my smock and pants (but it's all in the nature of the business and I love it; no hard feelings). After lunch, I help put the kids in bed for nap time. If there are a few extra minutes in between tasks, I talk to and play with the kids. And then it is time to leave because the van is outside to bring us back to the volunteer home base. Luckily, I have come to the point where I feel like I have accomplished something by the time I leave everyday at noon.

But through it all, I haven’t figured everything out. There are dynamics within Mother Teresa’s Home that would probably take years to sort out. For example, the children never cease to amaze and surprise me. A good number of them are unresponsive, a byproduct of the mental disabilities that they have. Others are able to communicate with simple hand gestures or noises. One thing that I hadn’t noticed, until today, is that a few of the kids have dynamics with each other. In their simple ways, they are able to communicate and show a sense of camaraderie that is not visible until you look closely.

Today, as I was walking down the hallway, towards the main room where the children congregate, I heard one of the residents crying. I recognized the voice right away as that of Carlos (who is often called Carlitos, a more loving form, by the staff). I quickened my pace to try to see what was going on. And as I stepped into the room, the crying stopped. Hector, a boy in the wheelchair next to Carlitos, had his hand on Carlitos’ face. He was gently rubbing Carlitos’ face, trying to soothe him. I’m not sure how deep the interaction between them was or has been in the past. Maybe Hector’s hand was in the right place at the right time (he doesn’t exactly know how to keep his hands to himself). But I doubt that. The vast majority of these children, whether they know it or not, spend every second of every day with each other. They are bound to be connected more than just by physical proximity. And even though the nuns are only able to provide the basic necessities and life could be better, they are family. That has to count for something.

So, yes, my time here is ending very soon. However, I have formed bonds and relationships, with the kids, nuns, and staff. I have grown close to them, and they have changed my life forever. I certainly consider them a part of my family. And I hope to keep that consideration for a long time coming.

Day 22, Part II: Paracas

Before coming on this trip, I had no idea that Peru was such a beautiful country with so many sites to see. Also, I knew that Lima itself is a very gray place, especially in the winter (which is now, because North and South America have opposite seasons). Lima is covered, almost constantly, in a deep gray cloud cover that takes lot of getting used to. Believe me, it is intense. You will never understand the pressing cloud cover until you actually visit Lima. Some people get depressed, playing it off as SAD (seasonal affective disorder). Everything looks different in this city when you get the occasional burst of sunshine, and it is definitely a welcome site.

While here, I have used my weekends as prime opportunities to see other parts of Peru, just to see what is out there. Last weekend, I went to Huacachina, which I have already written about. Yesterday, I took a day trip to Paracas. Paracas is a coastal town, right on the Pacific Ocean, about 4 hours south of Lima. The best part about these destinations is the sunshine! They are also beautiful, of course. I have always been a travel buff, so these trips are extremely exciting for me. While in Paracas, I took a boat ride to the Ballestas Islands, a natural habitat for a plethora of animals, including birds, sea lions, and Humboldt penguins (yes, penguins!). This was the highlight of my day, as I love to take photos of wildlife. The boat ride was loads of fun as we hit high speeds and big waves. It was certainly a thrill ride! On the islands, we were able to get very close to the cliffs, face to face to the animals. It was like a dream come true for me. Watching animals in their natural habitats is exhilarating, as you can watch their true daily activities - the way they should be living.

After the boat ride, I took a tour of the Paracas National Reservation. Here, the coastal desert and sand dunes give way to the sprawling blue of the Pacific Ocean. I have never seen something like this before: dry desert meets large body of water. This was truly something that I didn’t think existed, and if I didn’t see it with my own eyes, I am not sure I would have believed it.

Here are some photos from my day trip yesterday:

Day 22, Part I: The Cathedral of Lima

Peru is a country that is steeped in rich and varied history, most of which we have never heard about, whether in school or otherwise. Many civilizations have inhabited this country for over 3,500 years. Some of the largest and most successful civilizations were the Inca, Nasca, Wari, and Lima civilizations. Don’t worry. I do not intend on giving you a full history of all of these groups, nor could I. I do not know the history enough to be able to give a long spiel. However, all of these civilizations were distinctly different, in terms of their art, ceramics, weapons, clothing, and general way of life. All of them lived off of the land, and celebrated their resources to the utmost degree.

The Peruvian civilizations were spread out through the main sections of Peru, namely the coastal desert, highlands, and rainforest. Most of us have heard about the Incas whose stronghold was located in the Andes Mountains in and around the city of Cusco. Their fortress city, Machu Picchu, is located near Cusco. Interestingly enough, the Spanish conquistadors of the 1500’s, led by Francisco Pizarro, never found Machu Picchu. It was too well hidden within the mountains. But I will leave the details of the Inca civilization until I visit Cusco and Machu Picchu, right before I return to the States.

The capital city of Peru, Lima, which is on the coast of the Pacific Ocean, has a long and enthralling history. On Friday, I visited the Cathedral of Lima, the backbone of the Roman Catholic Church in Peru. Over the years, the Cathedral has been rebuilt several times - in different styles, no less - that have given this building a unique and varied architecture.

When Francisco Pizarro took control of Peru in 1532, he toured the country looking for a capital city. On January 18, 1535, Pizarro decided on Lima. He thought that Lima was the perfect location for a capital city because it was on the central coast. (He decided against Cusco because its mountain location proved too remote to rule the whole country from.) In that same year, Pizarro assigned a specific lot in which the main church of Lima was to be built. The construction of the first church, which would be classified as only a chapel by today’s standards, was completed in 1540. Francisco Pizarro was buried in this church after he was assassinated on June 26, 1541.

The Archbishop of Lima soon realized that this chapel would not be big enough. He therefore commissioned the building of a larger church on the same plot of land, which was inaugurated in 1551. This second church was not destined to be left untouched for a long amount of time. The church was rebuilt for a third time, the body of which was completed in 1622. Apparently, the Archbishop and his designers could not make up their minds. Today, the Cathedral is characterized by many styles of architecture that also soared through the rest of Lima, namely gothic-elizabethan, renaissance, baroque, neoclassical, and neocolonial.

Today, the Cathedral serves as a museum during the week, with many religious artifacts being displayed. Besides the main altar, the Cathedral also houses 14 chapels (with, of course, many different styles of architecture on display). On the weekends, regular Masses are held. The Cathedral of Lima is absolutely one of the hallmarks of this city with a central location on the main Plaza de Armas, right across the street from the Presidential Palace and the City Hall. It is a beautiful building and will hopefully be celebrated for many years to come.

Francisco Pizarro's tomb:

View of the inside of the Cathedral:

Day 19: What if...

I began this journey 19 days ago, just short of 3 weeks. I use the word journey instead of vacation or trip, because that is truly what this experience has been: a journey. Nothing less, nothing... well, definitely nothing less. I cannot say, “nothing more”, because could very easily be a lie when I re-evaluate at the end of my journey. Again, I’m actively avoiding the words vacation and trip because they don’t grasp the full meaning; they just don’t cut it. But I guess I could use some other appropriate synonyms like adventure and quest, in the interest of not being monotonous. A journey is significant because I am not only contributing to another culture and society, but I am also learning. I am not sitting on a beach sipping a cocktail with the bright sun shining on me (which, of course, would also be a great time and should be done by all). I’m being active in a place that I previously had no ties, connections, or responsibilities to.

19 days, out of 31 total. If someone had asked me back then, at the beginning, if I would ever enjoy the specific volunteer placement I was assigned to, I would not have been able to give an emphatic “yes”. Let me explain, because there are parts that I knew I would enjoy. Working in a hospice like Mother Teresa’s is a perfect fit for me. As morbid as it sounds, I am drawn to the idea of helping and being of comfort to those who are dying or will in the relatively near future reach their last earthly mile marker. Easing a person as their life comes to an end is difficult; it is not meant to be easy. But it is vital. Dying in pain, whether it be physical, emotional, mental, or spiritual seems inhumane. I believe peace comfort, and a freedom from pain should absolutely be in order in that circumstance. That is why I am so drawn to palliative care. It will never be the most glorious or uplifting of medical professions, but that (combined, of course, with geriatrics) calls my name with a booming voice that I cannot and will not ignore. I have seen death before, and I know I have a calling there.

So, at first glance, working at Mother Teresa’s Home seemed to originally be right up my alley. But 19 days ago, I learned I would be working on the children’s ward, working with severely disabled children who were near death or very soon would be. Now, those of you who know me realize that dealing with children (outside of my family) was never my forte. Give me an elderly person any day, and I’m in heaven. Therefore, I was disappointed to learn that I would be working with children. In a way, I know that attitude was selfish. But I knew that children were not necessarily a priority of mine. And working with disabled children just seemed cruel, for me and the kids. These kids, who are as innocent as can be in every possible way, are severely disabled. They will never have a normal life like most of us are used to. They have cerebral palsy, quadriplegia, autism, Down’s Syndrome, various forms of mental retardation. Their potential for opportunities in life were almost completely erased when they were conceived, and when they were born. They simple don’t deserve it. It is an unfair punishment that none of them perpetuated. And on top of all of this, they are dying, their lives cut way too short.

How was I going to do it? I thought it was impossible for me. I dreaded my first day, wondering if I would be able to handle it. But I did. I thought of each individual child, what could possibly be going through their minds, what my presence their could mean to them. And if you have been following my blog, then you know that I have more than just handled it. I have enjoyed every minute of my journey thus far. In two and a half weeks, I have fallen in love, unconditionally, with the children I work with. I look forward to working with them everyday. And when my working hours are over, I wish that I could stay longer just to be with them When I am away from them, I want to be with them, feeling guilty that I’m not there. With multiple disabilities and death somewhere on the horizon, these children are bundles of joy that have changed my life in ways that I never could have expected. In many ways, I wish I could trade places with them, to give them freedom from their conditions, to allow them to live a life of a “normal, healthy person”. They did not choose this, and I truly wish that I could do more.

Ask me that same question today that you asked me 19 days ago. And now I will give you an emphatic “yes!”

One tool that I have used to get me to this point in my journey is imagining “What if...” scenarios. They have certainly helped me to cope with the emotional roller coaster ride that this adventure has put me on. I would like to share some with you. Imagine yourself in each and how you would feel and react.

Imagine you are paralyzed. You cannot walk. You do not have control of your legs, maybe not even your arms and hands. You cannot perform daily tasks like cooking, feeding yourself, dressing, washing, going to the bathroom, brushing your teeth. You cannot play with other kids your age. You have to sit on the sidelines.

Imagine you are in a wheelchair. Imagine you are confined to the chair, and do not even have the ability to move around in it. Your hands are useless. They can’t find the wheels of the chair, and even if they did, they do not have the strength or coordination to move anywhere. You are trapped. You have to depend on someone else for your daily needs, in every possible aspect.

Imagine you can’t speak. You cannot use your voice to communicate verbally, which most other people use as their primary mode of communication. You try to speak, to cry, to laugh, in an attempt for some sort of contact. But it is futile. You want to speak, but your brain just isn’t cooperating.

Imagine you are blind. You cannot see anything except for the occasional flash of light in the morning when it is time to wake up. You do not know what your surroundings are, who is around you, because one of your most vital senses has failed you. You cannot see the beauty that this world has to offer. You cannot easily participate in your environment because you don’t know where you are, what is around you. You are a bystander while the rest of the world zooms by.

And for the finale, imagine all of the above scenarios as one. What would your life be like? What would your thoughts be? How would you react? How would you cope? How would your life be positive, even in a small way?

When I think of the sum of the scenarios, two words come to mind: helpless and hopeless. Saint Jude would have a field day. I’m helpless because I can’t take care of myself. I am completely dependent on the people around me. Every aspect of every day is spent upon the whim of those who care for me. I’m hopeless because there is no way out. I will be plagued by this condition for the rest of my life. There is no cure. I will never be normal. (Just as an aside, there is a distinction to be made here. The children I work with have been disabled for their whole lives. They never knew what it was like to be a normal, healthy child. Having disabilities is all they know. Perhaps, if they do not know what they are missing, the effect isn’t as catastrophic. But there is no way to know for sure.)

I would like to introduce you to a 12-year old boy named Andy. Andy is a resident at Mother Teresa’s Home. Remember that summed up scenario I asked you to contemplate? Well... that’s Andy in a nutshell. Andy has cerebral palsy, so he has very limited motor functioning. He is confined to a wheelchair and cannot move himself around because he doesn’t have the arm strength or coordination. He cannot speak due to a mental disability. And he is blind. On the outside, Andy is presented as a shell. There is nothing spectacular about him upon first glance. When I first saw him, I was surprised at his conditions, but I didn’t think anything more than that. I’m afraid that is how many people view him without taking the opportunity to work with him closely. But something about Andy drew me to him, and I decided that I wanted to work with him closely.

Andy has a kind, gentle, innocent face. There is no anger, remorse, or sadness present. When I approach him, I announce myself by saying hello and asking how he is. Of course, he cannot see me, so I have to use other forms of communication. Even though he is blind, his eyes are vibrant. They move around in their sockets, trying to take in his surroundings, but to no avail. His sense of hearing is intact, perhaps even amplified due to his inability to see. He doesn’t like loud noises; they frighten him. He has no idea of knowing what those sounds actually are. He likes his face to be massaged, an act that always coaxes a smile. He has to be fed slowly because he needs ample time to chew and swallow. He is a messy eater, sometimes spitting food on himself or me. Of course, this doesn’t bother me; it’s all part of the experience. When done eating, he does not like his face to be washed. Maybe he doesn’t like the abrasive feeling of the washcloth on his skin. But it has to be done.

From my experiences changing his clothes some mornings, I have noticed scars on his body all around his pelvis. I realize that these scars must be from surgeries that he had on his hips, just one example of the tribulations that he has had to endure in his short life. Andy likes to be tickled, mostly on the belly, but also sometimes under his chin. A fulfilling feeling is evoked in me when I make him chuckle or laugh.

On one of the walls at the Home, I noticed a picture of Mother Teresa with a quote: “El mal mas grande es la indeferencia.” In English, “The greatest evil is indifference.” The idea of not caring for or worrying about these children, for me, at this moment, is evil. I can no longer imagine a life for me in which I wouldn’t work with these children. Their effect on me is permanent, even more so than a tattoo. I have grown attached to these children, especially Andy. I wish that I could do more. I know that my presence here is positive and helpful, but, in the end, it is temporary. I wish I could do something permanent and everlasting, just as these children have done for me.

Just a week and a half left here in Lima...

Day 16: Finding a Groove

Today was a very exciting day for the Lima Program of Cross-Cultural Solutions, as well as for the people involved at Mother Teresa’s Home for the Dying and Destitute. A new group of volunteers came to the home base this weekend, ready to embark on a full week of volunteering. The dynamic in the house is much different now than it was when I first arrived in Lima. My first week here, the base was at full capacity with a whopping 43 volunteers living under one roof. It was an intense week at the base, but there was a wide variety of very interesting people. We had volunteers from the United States, Canada, and Australia. Working so closely with people from around the world was a great experience. This week, there are only 25 volunteers in the home base, which is a much more manageable number, now that we aren’t living on top of each other.

There are only seven other volunteers who have been here for as long as I have. So, the majority of the volunteers this week are newbies. At Mother Teresa’s, I am the only volunteer left from the previous weeks. Two of the new volunteers are joining me at Mother Teresa’s for the week. One of the volunteers, Angie, is working with the adults on the first floor, while the other volunteer, Matt, has joined me in working with the children upstairs. Today felt slightly odd for me at the Home. For the first time, I was the volunteer with the most experience at this placement, which was strange because I have only been here for two weeks. That’s just another reason why Mother Teresa’s, as well as the other volunteer placement sites in Lima, need as much help as possible. Yes, this is a PR address for everyone out there reading my blog. You can all see how much this experience has meant to me so far. I can guarantee that you would all have an amazing time volunteering for CCS.

But, anyway, the other two volunteers sort of looked to me to show them the ropes a little bit today. Matt helped me perform physical therapy on some of the teenagers with Omar. For my entire time here so far, I have enjoyed helping with the therapy of the kids, even though I know it causes them pain. Stretching their tense and atrophied muscles is a task that requires a large amount of patience as well as physical endurance. The children wince and cry, their only ways of showing that they are not happy with the therapy session. However, it is something that will help them in the long run, even if it hurts now. For the children who are in wheelchairs, which is the vast majority of the residents, no amount of physical or occupational therapy is going to help them walk again. However, studies have shown that the therapy does actually make quality of life better and life expectancy higher. This is just one more way of stretching our resources to give the best care possible to the residents of the Home. As I have said before, it is difficult work, but even more rewarding for all parties.

Halfway through the work day, Matt wanted to see what else was happening on the children’s ward. So I took him to the area where all of the children usually congregate for meals. Sure enough, it was lunch time, and the nuns needed help feeding the children. At this point, I let Matt spread his own wings and feed a child by himself. That’s the same thing that happened to me when I fed one of the children for the first time. There is nothing like being forced to take a running start on an unfamiliar task. Learning on your own is often one of the best ways to do so.

I had time to feed two of the boys today. For some reason (and I haven’t figured out what exactly that reason is), I gain a certain pleasure from feeding the kids. Maybe it is the idea of giving them the physical sustenance that they need to live. Maybe it is the connection that you form when you are in such close contact with the kids. Feeding them is, in a way, a very intimate act. Usually, this experience is only shared by people who know each other well and care for each other. When I feed the kids, I am fully expressing that I am devoted to their care, that I want what is best for them. Maybe it is a combination of all of these factors. Who knows? All I know for sure is that working with these children and forming relationships with them is not something that I will ever forget. I plan on drawing from this trip in my everyday life. The children that I work with show that they have an immense strength, a strength that keeps them chugging along when everything else seems dark and dreary. They are brave beyond belief, a trait that I wish I could share.

And that was the beginning of my third week here in Lima. I am just over halfway through my trip, and I feel that I have found my groove at Mother Teresa’s. I know what I am doing there without having to be told or asking questions. When I am not sure of something, I am able to figure it out myself and work from there. It is a good feeling for the simple fact that I am actively contributing to the everyday tasks at the Home. The nuns and staff can trust me to work alongside them. In many ways, I wish that I could stay here for longer to work with everyone at Mother Teresa’s. I’m just going to have to come back sometime...

Days 12-15: Whirlwind

The last few days here in Peru have been a whirlwind that I better start writing about now, so that I don’t forget everything that I want to say. When I last wrote, I spoke about Independence Day and its meaning here in Peru. It is certainly a festive time of year, and even now, on Sunday, there is still a feeling of excitement in the air. There is no doubt that Peruvians love their country.

Thursday, July 29th, was the second day of Independence Day celebrations in Peru. However, the folks at Mother Teresa’s Home had something else to celebrate that day. It happened to be the birthday of one of the children, Marco. Marco was turning 13. According to American standards, Marco became a teenager that day. While still a child, he was quickly growing up into a young man. Certainly, turning 13 is usually a huge event, a milestone, in the States. Every child looks forward to turning 13, so that they can call themselves a teenager. It is a time when many parents give their children more “grown up” responsibilities, as well as giving them some more freedom, like going to hang out with friends at the movies or the park on your own. I know I was excited when I reached that age. But even though we had a birthday celebration for Marco that left everyone happy and smiling, it didn’t feel complete - not for me, at least.

During the entire party, all I could think of was what this child’s life would be like if he weren’t sick, if he had the same opportunities that I had when I was growing up. Marco is in a wheelchair full time because he cannot walk. He has a form of mental retardation that has stripped him of the ability to speak. Just like the other children at the home, he was abandoned by his mother after he was born. His entire life has been spent in a state of complete dependence on the nuns, staff, and volunteers at the home. He has never gone to school because there are no resources in Peru for children who suffer from mental retardation like he does. He has no parents to give him gifts or hugs and kisses on his birthday. He has no siblings to share experiences with. He has no friends to laugh and play with. Even further, he has no family to sing him Feliz Cumpleanos on his special day. Thank goodness for the people at Mother Teresa’s Home, or he would have nothing at all.

I know that I have hit on this theme before in a few of my blog posts. But I feel it bears repeating just because the “state of affairs” for these children is so dire and unfortunate. I constantly wish that there was something more that I could do for the kids that I work with. The 20 hours a week that I spend volunteering just isn’t enough. We need more time, more resources, to multiply our impact here.

Here is a picture of the celebrations for Marco’s birthday on Thursday. I was the pinata “bearer” and I was encouraged by the simple fact that Marco was smiling:

On a separate note, I wanted to get out of the city in order to explore another part of this country. Lima is a beautiful city with many sites to see. However, it is covered, for the vast majority of the time, in gray skies. The sun rarely peeks through the clouds, so it gets a little bit dreary if you spend enough time here. So, Carol (a fellow volunteer from Chicago) and I, decided to go to Huacachina. Huacachina is a town in the middle of the desert, about five hours south of Lima. This town is an oasis (literally) that is surrounded by sand dunes. These dunes are absolutely enormous. When I first laid my eyes on them, I could hardly believe it. It was a spectacular site. All I could see was sand topped by blue sky. And the blue sky was certainly a welcome site, with the sun shining on us. The sand dunes are the second highest in the world, right behind the dunes in the desert of Namibia, in Africa. (There is some controversy here though. Each country claims that their dunes are the highest. I’m tempted to side with the Peruvians.) Here are two pictures from the oasis and the surrounding dunes:

Huacachina is a Quechua word for “beautiful crying woman”. Quechua is the language spoken by the natives of the Andes. These are the people whose ancestry date back to the Inca civilization that lasted from the twelfth century to the middle of the sixteenth century, when the Incas were conquered by Pizarro and the Spanish conquistadors. According to legend, the beautiful woman cries in the desert. Her tears form the lagoon that is now the oasis in the center of town.

Carol and I had a great time exploring Huacachina. First, we went on a tour of the sand dunes in a dune buggy. The ride was almost like a roller coaster ride - up, down, and side to side. It was an exhilarating ride marked by high speeds of the buggy and feelings of butterflies in my stomach. The driver stopped several times so that we could go sand boarding. For those of you who don’t know, sand boarding is just like snowboarding, except - well - on sand. Before strapping my legs to the board, I was extremely nervous. I have never actually snowboarded. I have always been afraid of having both of my feet attached to one board. It just isn’t natural, not to me, at least. But in the spirit of the experience, I did it. I certainly fell a lot on the way down the dune, but it was so much fun. After I started, I was no longer nervous.
The second sand boarding dune was much higher and even more steep. I decided that I would try something else that some of the others on the tour were also giving a shot - riding down the dune on our bellies. I laid down on the board, face first, and launched myself down the dune. This was definitely very scary, but also a very freeing experience. There was no way for me to control the speed of the board. I was just there for the ride. I don’t think I have ever gone so fast before. If I ever come back to Peru, sand boarding is first on my “to do” list.

After the sand boarding, Carol and I took some time to take pictures as we both love photography. And then we went on a wine tour in the surrounding countryside. Apparently,Peru makes great wine. That was news to me. It was my first wine tour ever, and I was surprised by how beautiful the vineyards lying at the foot of the Andes were.

After our day long excursion, we headed back to Lima. It was a great excursion, but also pretty tiring.

Fast forward to Sunday. I wanted to go to Mass Downtown, but decided to stay in Surco, the community where our house is. Another volunteer had heard of an outdoor Mass in the community, so we both headed over for that. It was a beautiful Mass held by the Order of Our Lady of the Reconciliation. During the homily, which was in Spanish (as was the rest of the Mass), I was able to pick up a few sentences that struck me. The priest said, “None of are alone. We are all protected and watched over. And for those of us who have more, we should watch over those who have less.” And my mind returned to the residents at Mother Teresa’s Home. For me, it was an affirmation of the work that my fellow volunteers and I have been doing here in Lima. We are all human and are all connected by the same underlying forces of community. It is important to work for the common good, especially those of us who have more.

I have been having an absolutely life-changing experience in Lima. I have a new perspective on many things, and I now know that volunteering, whether nationally or internationally, will always be an important priority for me. I find it hard to believe that half of my time here is already over. As much as I miss my family and friends back home, I’m needed here. I guess I will just have to bring them with me on my next volunteer trip...