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MARIA'S STORY
By Margaux Safley
Peru knocks the wind out of me, the high altitude steals air from my lungs, bitter nights chill my bones, and I grow silent. I prepared myself for a country that was once the naval of the new world, with beautiful landscapes, fabulous food, and ancient textiles. Real images begin to wash away my rose tinted view and replace it with snapshots of orphaned children and poverty stricken villages.
I major in Public Policy and Planning Management (PPPM) at the University of Oregon, a program that requires all students to complete an internship with a nonprofit. I was delighted when the PPPM department approved my internship with Quechua Benefit, a charitable organization working with children in Peru. In one summer, I will help fight poverty, travel to a foreign country, and earn twelve credits.
I leave Portland, and twenty hours later Dr. Willy's warm smile greets me at the airport in Arequipa. He is a dentist serving as Peruvian director for Quechua Benefit. The reality of being entirely on my own sinks in when I realize that my co-worker for the next three weeks speaks no English. I silently wish that two years of high school French were two years of college Spanish. But the culture shock subsides, and I become acclimated to the high altitude during our four-day stay in Arequipa. Just as I'm getting comfortable, Dr. Willy ushers me into a truck that carries us up a winding road carved from the side of a soaring mountain. We head into the highlands.
Quechua Benefit began providing dental care to Peruvian children in 1996. Since then 30,000 patients, who lack the means for even basic dental care, have been treated. The charity, funded by alpaca breeders from the U.S., Canada, England, and Australia, serves forty rural communities in the Andes Mountains, and supports three orphanages. In 2007 they delivered truckloads of medical supplies, thousands of blankets, and fresh water to earthquake survivors in the town of Ica, south of Lima.
Four hours into our ascent, nature calls. Nervous, I pull out my electronic English to Spanish dictionary, circa 1990, and look up the word for bathroom. "El bano por favor", I say in "Spanglish", hoping Willy will understand. "Si, si, si", says Dr. Willy, pulling over while trying to explain where to go. Thankfully, confused looks are universal. It only takes Willy a few seconds to transition from rapid-fire Spanish to dramatic hand gestures. I half-trot down a long dirt path and around a shed leading to a tiny tin building. The bano appears, a 4'x4' tin rectangle with no ceiling, built to protect a twelve-inch hole in the ground stationed over a cesspool. A little disoriented, I opt for what seems to be a better alternative, the space under an abandoned staircase inhabited by forgotten plywood. At least the air is fresh. I brace myself against a piece of wood and half way through my ordeal the rotting lumber comes crashing down taking me with it. In retrospect it was a life lessonýadapt to the environment even if it means enduring a smelly black hole.
Later that night we check into a four-dollar-a-night hotel where I pull on, two fleece sweat shirts, long underwear, fleece pants, a down jacket, two pair of wool socks, and two winter hats. Only then am I ready to slip into my expertly engineered weatherproof sleeping bag from Mountain Hardware. Thankfully, the only thing frozen in the morning is the emergency supply of peanut butter. With suitcase in hand and the pickup in sight, I mumble under my breath, "The last 24 hours would surely be the worst of my stay in Peru". I am naive.
Another long ride leads us through Peru's vast altiplano, where as many as eight people populate sod homes no bigger then 10'x20'. In twenty-one years, life did not prepare me to witness an entire race living on earthen floors with the moon as their nightlight and their livestock as roommates. We arrive late at our destination and are welcomed by Maria, a small friendly red head, with thirty-six smiling faces at her heels. The kids seem excited about two things: the arrival of a westerner, and a chance to sleep iný6:00 a.m. instead of the usual 5:30!
Maria is a native of Spain and director of the Allin Kawasai orphanage. She speaks basic English and becomes my closest friend. I begin to learn about Peru through a different set of eyes. The children's concrete home, lacks heat or hot water, rests near the top of a mountain stretching 17,500 feet in the air. Nighttime temperatures drop sharply below zero. In spite of their bleak living conditions, my arrival sparks fascination. Curious looks ask- who is this blue-eyed gringo towering over me? Without a common language, our communication quickly becomes hugs and hand gestures. Maria leads us to bed and the calm night puts me to sleep.
I wake to the smell of baking "pan", the local bread. The dining hall fills with hungry children and breakfast is served. We follow our morning repast with a tour of the groundsýfirst the fish hatchery and then the chicken coops, bunny pens, greenhouses, and the guinea pig cage. Organic lettuce, carrots, broccoli, potatoes, and, more potatoes fill the greenhouses. Potatoes, the Peruvian staple, are eaten morning, noon and night. Thirty-six children radiate pride as we walk through their gardens. Allin Kawasai is self-sustaining. Worms are used in a four-step process designed to break down protein and vegetable trimmings into fertilizer. Nothing is wasted. Chores are delegated at the beginning of every week. Each child is given a specific responsibility. Monday through Friday the kids attend school from 8:00 a.m. to 2:30 p.m., followed by lunch. Then the cleaning begins in the kitchen and moves to the dormitory, computer lab, library, and classroom. Clothing is hand washed and the plaza swept. If time permits, basketball and futball (soccer) generate squeals of delight. Later there are animals to feed and dinner to cook.
When the kids are busy I spend time thinking of ways to improve my basic survival skills. Water at Allin Kawasai is drawn from a mountain stream fed by melting snow from the peaks above. Bathing is difficult, and showers are out of the question. But so is greasy hair: I get crafty. All I need is my long underwear and a shield of waterproof clothing. The armor allows me to endure two minutes of ice crusted water pouring from a rusty pipe onto my head, which is just enough time to wash away the Paul Mitchell shampoo.
Peruvians have a very different concept of time. Americans pay close attention to the clock. Being late or missing a deadline is not an option. In Peru, two hours can mean four hours and "later today" can mean "manana". Maria, a punctual European, believes that organization and scheduling help the children in their daily lives. She assigns chores to teach them responsibility. Working together, thirty-six orphans create a self-sustaining community, where each individual has a safe home, a hot meal, and a sense belonging, love, and family.
The sun is setting and our knees get dirty shooting marbles on the dusty floor as I teach the children a few words of English. Rodrigo and Luce, start mimicking sentences. "Good afternoon, good morning, good night", they say in one continuous breath. "No, it's good morning, good afternoon, good night," I repeat loudly for the third time. I remind myself that there is no reason to shoutýthe kids arenýt hearing impaired they just speak a different language. I try the phrase,"como estas" or "how are you", and a sea of pearly white teeth chatter with laughter. Apparently I mangled the Spanish. I put my frustrations with language aside. Being together is enough.
On Tuesday evening everyone gathers for the weekly counseling session. Children without parents carry a heavy burden and struggle to overcome their sense of loss, making hope a scarce commodity. Each individual is encouraged to face their fear and talk about their past. They see that their stories are similar and find this therapeutic. They begin to trust that they are not alone, their hearts start to heal, and a new family emerges.
Maria and her colleagues tuck the kids into bed and give precious one-on-one time to address any lingering problems. I take this opportunity to step outside into the Peruvian night and am consumed by the peace it offers. The Milky Way, usually masked by the glare of a city, illuminates the sky. For just a moment, the twinkling velvet blanket is close enough to touch. Mariaýs hand on my shoulder pulls me back to earth with an invitation to visit her modest apartment. As we talk, teacups warm our hands and her story unfolds.
Almost thirty years ago Maria was living on a six-acre farm on the coast of Spain with her boyfriend, Derek, and his mother, Adora. It was a setting similar to Allin Kawasai. For twelve years Adora was Maria's mentor, and passed down the ancient gardening methods she learned from her mother. The three turned the soil, planted seeds, and watered the garden creating their own self-sustained community. When Derek and Maria"s romance ended, she traveled to France looking for a fresh start. Friends gave her work tending gardens. The next fifteen years were full of exhilarating voyages; climbing the French Alps and backpacking through India.
Eventually, Maria needed a new adventure and joined an international nonprofit that sponsors humanitarians to work abroad. She chose Peru, spending two, five-month tours working in impoverished villages helping orphans. Suddenly an opportunity for permanent employment at Allin Kawasai became available and she settled into the new job.
"Margaux", she says in an endearing tone, ýWith all life adventure I take, I happiest about my time here. The kid's childish nature, the poverty, and their happiness humble me. Peru stolen my heart".
One week at Allin Kawasai put my life in perspective. Waving goodbye, I see the children who captured my heart and the woman who gave me a new dream. I hope a small piece of me lives on at Allin Kawasai. When I return, maybe ill find it in the faces of the children I came to know.
Dr. Willy starts the truck, and we set out on the next phase of our journey. Eight hours later we find ourselves in the Colca Valley, home to giant Condors and ancient terraces plunging down hillsides where corn, quinoa, and the ever-popular potato have room to grow.
The next five days are spent turning empty rooms into makeshift dental stations used to pull rotting teeth from grateful people. I mop up the blood springing from the infected tissue. I rush to sterilize instruments and keep the chart in order. Boys shine with false bravery and girls smile apologetically for their quiet tears. Dr. Willy is never too busy to calm a frightened child or reassure a nervous parent. I offer a hug and a Kleenex to wipe away pain. Moments like these make me realize how similar we all are.
Through Quechua Benefit, Maria, and the children of Peru, I experienced the gratification that comes from helping people help themselves. I am forever grateful. Quechua Benefit plans to build an orphanage in the Colca Valley, modeled after Allin Kawasai. I look forward to a hopeful future for the Quechua children that will live there. I pray that some day a young college graduate, without her rose-tinted glasses, has the opportunity to manage the home that will be built on the hillside terraces of the Colca.
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