I remember when things were different. When I knew what I went to work for and by working hard I could feel appreciated. I remember when I could get a buzz on at the end of each day and not feel sick from it. When I wasn't afraid of food. When toilet paper was compulsory and my stool was solid. That's not how things are right now.
We've all been ill this last week, fatigued and sore, but worse is the difficulty of our work. The schools that we go to have laptops but rarely use them. It's our job to turn their interets on, but inspiring excitement for this technology is foolish when the teachers we're working with have little use for it. For them, just getting through the day comes first.
In Huaytuna, mine and Bekka's first deployment, we mostly kept to the schools computer lab, an incredible resource considering the student population of 30+, where the laptops are taken out for us to use with different groups of kids. Some take to it. Others, mostly boys, see it as just another venue for aggression. We play games and go through menial tasks, all fruitless as the laptops will not likely be used again for months after we leave. There are glimmers of interests from teachers and students, when they enjoy sharing photos or singing together, but mostly we just hang out. On our last day there, physical education day, the director ran the kids through some exercises. Bekka found out from one of the kids that other weeks they just play with balls or whatever. We can't really tell how much of the schools performance is just a show for our reports to the Ministry.
Here's the real punch in the gut. We were in a restaurant where a handful of local educators were having a meeting, and they figured out that we were involved with OLPC. One of the educators came over to talk with us, asking if we could somehow get laptops to her school where computers are non-existant. It turns out her school was overlooked because it's too close to a metropolitan center and the project had decided to focus on rural schools. But the rural schools need more paper, books, and some kind of internet before they can make any use of the laptops. Classic misalocation. The Ministry never asked the schools what they wanted. They just presumed to know what was good for everybody. And the XOs end up collecting dust.
The highlights are stellar. We get ourselves into the mountains to the hidden lakes and wish our eyes were bigger so we could take in more of it. Peru is the kind of landscape that my mind finds difficult to believe. And there are moments of revelry despite our sicknesses and weariness. There was this music in Huaraz, a bangin' brass band, and I heard it like it was right next to me but I couldn't find it, so I look up and see a rooftop fiesta. The Brit and I come back later and he talks his way into the building and we're up on the roof dancing and drinking with these old close-talking Peruvian assholes. They pass around glasses of beer, sticky from many hands and mouths, and stutter over their curiosity at the gringos. This one guy would not leave me alone. Another man's adoration can be flattering, but have some class fellas. The band was a 12 piece, clarinets and trumpets and sousaphones and trombones and a bass drum, all boracho. Sorry I don't have any pics. There had better be another chance.
So now we're back in Huari. We were supposed to begin our second deployment but our guide never showed up to guide us, so we're back in bed. I'll spend my afternoon doing homework for my online class on radio production and audio art - great stuff - and data entry for Fanatic, a NY record whose payroll I'd like to jump onto this Fall. I want to pull some art out of my time here, but the illness and the language and the bureaucracy are dragging me down. What can I do but toughen up and get back to work.
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