The Invitation: Camila's Next Big Adventure

Every Sunday, post a too-early (in my opinion) morning mass, two community-mates hop onto the #35 bus and head up to the center. It’s about 45 minutes from our house to the market, plenty of time for me to try and wake myself up before entering into the chaos that is Mercado Grau.   The first time I visited the market, I remember only an overwhelming sensation of noise and activity. Picture stalls and stalls with products stacked to the ceiling, stands with fresh veggies overflowing on the tabletops, people yelling the prices of their wares. Before Peru, I could not have told you how many pounds were in a kilo. I definitely couldn’t have told you how many kilos of potatoes you might need for corn chowder or how many s oles (Peruvian currency) of cinnamon you might need for the week— I’ll tell you now, it’s a lot less than you think. Buying fresh produce is a challenge. It requires so much more planning than a quick trip to Safeway where you pop what...

  You know that feeling when you wake up at three in the morning, pouring sweat, your hands shaking, and in dire need of some apple juice?   Welcome to the fun, fun world of diabetes!   Sometimes the internal debate is a tough one: chocolate or health? For those of you who are unfamiliar with my auot-immune disease, here’s a quick run down. (For those of you already in the know, feel free to skip the following paragraph).  I’ve been a Juvenile Diabetic since the age of 3 which means that at about that time my body began destroying the cells in my pancreas which create insulin, something the body needs to control blood glucose levels in the body. Basically, my body is waging war on itself. There’s no cure, just treatment which can consist of shots of insulin throughout the day or the use of an insulin pump (connected to a needle or catheter in your body 24/7). Management requires calculating carbohydrates in food and correcting for that with insulin. To...

It’s 9:30am, first day back at work after the summer break, and I’m about to fall asleep at my desk as the teachers around me debate the schedule for the week. The schedule for the week! Isn’t that something that you should have ready to go when you start your Monday? Coming from the U.S. where individualism is king, I’ve found it a challenge to adapt to a culture in which communal decision-making rules all. Every decision we will make this week as we prep for the school year must be made as a whole, in consensus. We'll often spend more time debating and revising a proposed plan than executing the plan itself.  It drove me nuts for a long time—couldn’t the director of the school just tell us what the schedule for the week is to begin with and go from there? Couldn’t it just be emailed ahead of time? Two minutes to read it and done. Instead we’re here debating whether classroom decorating will be done Thursday or Friday.  But then something happened that changed ...

“Blood runs thicker than water” “For better or for worse” “In sickness and in health” There’s the family you’re born into and the family you marry into, but there’s one other family that  you don’t always come across: the family you choose. Well, in JVC’s case, it’s more like the family they choose for you. And I’m not talking about host families — that could be an entire post in and of itself — I’m talking about community .   When you commit to JVC International you are not just committing to two years of service, you also commit your life to at least three other strangers who will spend the next year or two years together with you. In a foreign setting, especially in Tacna this means they are about the only three other Americans you’ll see in town (although a casual run in with Mormons has become a common occurrence).   Enjoying our homemade, hodge-podge Thanksgiving feast. Family: you love them, you fight with...

It’s January again, time for this JV to fill her hiking backpack with as many warm clothes as possible.  Mes de Misión  is about to begin, a grueling mission month in which Jesuit volunteers accompany students from third grade secondary of Colegio Miguel Pro as they spend part of their summer vacation in service to others out in the mountain regions of Tacna.   I remember the summer camp of my childhood - archery, sports, arts and crafts, theatre— fun, educational activities out in the Sequoia National Park. This is not that kind of summer camp. For the next 28 days, my 14 year-old students will wake early, often before daybreak, to cook meals over open fire, swing machetes and pick-axes on local farms, and participate in communal life.   My students will often give me heart attacks (usually when swinging sharp objects) and I will find myself arguing over some non-sensical subject: “no, you can’t get a ride on a stranger’s motorcycle”; “no, you can’t play...

"Hey, did my letter make it to you yet?” I received that message on my phone a while ago. It was not the first time receiving a message like that, nor will it be the last. The irony of receiving an instant message, checking in about a handwritten letter is not lost on me: couldn’t that person simply have sent me an email with all of their updates, worries, and concerns? Also, if they need to know when it arrives, doesn’t that take a little fun out of the surprise? Anyone who has known me for a number of years is probably aware of my love for writing a good old-fashioned letter. E-mail? I don’t usually take the time to write out an essay-long recap of my life. Something about staring at a computer screen kills my commitment to finish a lengthy and personalized  update. Messaging? Spotty responses and even worse now that I’m in Peru. Phone calls? Yes, if you can figure out what time-change we’re in and catch me in the off hours I’m physically at home. An av...

It’s been about a year since I moved to Peru. Here, as the year closes out and we get closer and closer to Christmas, the days have begun to heat up. Paletas have made a comeback (ice cream popsicles that come in thin tubes of plastic- a childhood joy of frozen go-gurts brought back to life). I’ve spent this last year teaching English, something I never thought I’d do. Before coming here I remember having declared on numerous occasions that I was not made to be a teacher (the jury’s still out on that verdict). It’s been a year of many mistakes, of facing days filled with unknowns. There has been so much laughter. There have been many days marked by doubt and uncertainty. In all of this, I’ve come to one conclusion: you can take the theatre kid away from the drama, but you can’t take the drama away from the theatre kid. In this past year I have found myself yearning for the theatre world that I lived in so fully in university. I find myself waffling back and forth: teach Eng...