3 March
We broke ground on the “waste management plant” on the 1st, a nice piece of land that the municipality is planning to use to bury trash that isn’t useful and recycle or compost the rest. A tree nursery is even in the plans, and it all seemed too good to be true, being only a month after we began talks about the project. A bulldozer cut a new road to access the plant and cleared the mess of blackberries on site. Although the preliminary environmental studies were deemed unnecessary, the mini-diagnostic rapid and inaccurate, and the general planning process haphazard—a build first, talk later approach—I must say that I felt proud of the direction our little pueblo was heading in; a few steps ahead of dumping the trash off a cliff that sits just above our poorly installed and aging water supply lines.
Yesterday I got back to work on the first draft of a monster diagnostic report on Chimulque, the small caserio in which I’m planning to do most of my work this year, and later on I had to pull a late nighter making a presentation on best management practices at the waste management plant; a small but arduous request of Lucho “Coche” (translates as “pig”), the engineer from the municipality in charge of the trash project. I didn’t mind this extra task at first, since I saw it as my big chance to let Lucho know all about my little inquietudes and make sure the project proceeded in an environmentally safe manner. I would even get to plug the inclusion of women in the project, campaign against Styrofoam, and make a case for cleaning up the current dump.
I remember waking up so hopeful. But it all faded around the second slide of my presentation, as Lucho began running in and out of the room, talking on cell phone, smoking cigarettes, and playing around on his computer. Things went downhill from there when I took a walk to the plant after lunch and found a massive pig chowin on the big mound of yesterday’s trash that had been dumped there about 2 months before the site was ready to receive it, and little kids trying to use the site as a short cut. Supposedly Lucho gave the orders, but the trash guys could just be covering themselves. I was past disappointment, legitimately upset for the first time in my service, but luckily the trash guys were good sports about helping clean it up, psyched to be using gloves for the first time ever and pumped to flex their muscles in front of a camera. I guess the lesson is that with this trash business I gotta be more like a fly, on top of things.
29 March
It’s been a really long time since I last wrote, and maybe that’s because I’ve been busy finishing up the community diagnostic and trying to guide this cannonball of a trash project as it barrels down a hill, but I think it also has a little to do with getting settled and comfortable with my life here. It’s something I can manage and wake up to every day ready for, unlike the confusion I felt when I would open my eyes in the morning during my first couple months here. The tranquilidad is pretty distinct from the party week I just spent in La Libertad for Early In Service Training, chilling with friends in Trujillo, surfing and back alley dancing in Huanchaco, a visit to the large sierra town of Otuzco, and a surprise foamy disco thrown in the mix (turns out they are as gross as everyone says). I kinda feel guilty about traveling, something that the folks here in general don’t really do, and also bit negligent from being out of site…
Our dog Bobbi is dying. He can’t move and just whimpers softly say and night outside my window, sounding like a human who’s been crying so long that tears won’t come. My family can’t decide whether or not to put him down.
31 March
At some time today, maybe while I was enjoying a pretty hike, listening to the Kurt Vile album for like the tenth time in two days, inspecting a composting latrine, or getting served liquor, bananas, lemon-oranges, a couple fresh eggs for the road or pig skin soup (complete with hair), our dog Bobbi passed away and was buried in the backyard under some roses.
8 April
Elections are whats up and Peruvians are certainly not afraid of their political opinions. If it’s not corn or the rain savior they’re talking about, it’s either the commy militant Ollanta, the old white dude PPK, the privileged daughter of the Japanese former president Fujimori, or the corrupt liberal party addict who was taught English by a PC volunteer and later became president of Perú. Noone says much about the other dude running, Cateñ-something or other.
In other news I recently got to be counselor for a couple days at this leadership and self-esteem camp dealie
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