Magia y Amor

May 19th
How did a mountain crab climb into my room?

May 30th
Each day the valley takes a deep breath and fills its belly with Pacific fog, rolling the water into white pillows that invite me to dive onto and sleep within. It’s my safety net; makes me shrug off aimless anxiety and small failures. Sifting through piles of mixed garbage—rotting fruit and vegetable peels, grey ash and brown dirt, soiled diapers and toilet paper, chicken feathers, tuna cans and soda bottles—dumped on the front step of the recently inaugurated waste management site on the first day of recollection was not how I imagined my day when I awoke, but I also didn’t think I’d be laughing about it tonight.

June 2nd
Slow motion and changed plans, courtesy a rusty nail in the bottom of my right foot. While waiting for a lift back from Naranjo, head swimming in shock and blood loss, I grinned and giggled at a piglet fighting a small dog, exhausted of the drama unfolded and welcoming the absurdity. Everything has been overwhelming and rushed lately, and what for? The rains have eased up and hiking is less muddy, but there is only a small window of opportunity to significantly work in between the presidential elections this weekend and when the municipality begins pre-gaming the anniversary. Either way I’ll be reclined in my room, coloring drawings of our newly designed composting latrines.

June 29th
It started with paint, removing the political facades that mostly just served as token of pride or disappointment, replacing them with fresh coats of lime green with mud brown trim, sky blue hanging over a darker deep sea base, a hot pink valentine’s surprise, or a sandy tan dripping onto a speckled walkway. The rind of the auditorium ripened maroon and protected the charming duos that showed up to spin on the walls of its cream core. Then they unlocked the swings in the kiddie park, slapped a tutti frutti suit on the monkey bars, and invited a party of childhood buddies—Bart Simpson, Mickey Mouse, Bugs Bunny, Daffy Duck and Whinny the Pooh. Then they set up a dozen speakers on 30 foot tall bamboo scaffolding and had a dance off. The little man and his two cows tilling soil got makeovers for their illuminated plaza water fountain debut. The dried up mold on the stairs of the municipality was laboriously scraped away and the rotting, drooping ledges of the building scoured and reinforced with concrete. Harmless animosity arose as Chalaco divided into three soccer teams—Cultural, Leyrita, and San Fernando. A queen was elected based on qualities that ranged from caring about the new solid waste program to looking good in “swimwear” fotos while soaking in a freezing waterfall and then being willing to smile in “campowear” fotos taken up in the cloudy llama refuge. Portable tent restaurants/houses set up shop to dry cow meat above pans of juicy raw fish and inside-out popcorn while shoe, DVD, and foosball emporiums camped out down the street. And as expected, most real work in the municipality came to a halt, pardoned by the upcoming festivities.

It kicked off with a late night march of the farroles, or candle-lit figurines made of thin paper and popsicle sticks, resting atop wooden poles. My winners: 1st place – the bull fight that looked more like two cows kissing; 2nd place – the dragon that was bigger than the kid holding it; 3rd place – the life-sized Señor Cautivo de Ayabaca (a rasta jesus-looking, saint-like holy guy that people from all over Perú honor every year by journeying on foot to Ayabaca and praying or something). Then the turn of the anniversary was marked at midnight by burning a wooden castle filled with fireworks and bumping cumbia music through the frigid sierra air. The next night the covered futbolito court was converted into a bright disco as Sensual Karicia kicked the jams until the wee hours when someone started throwing bottles. The real battle of the bulls was missed for some honest chamba preparing a small patch of a veggie garden on the weathered, rooted face of land left mostly to grass over by Don Otto, whose back and hands have been hurting him. Few people ventured into the foggy rain on the third day to attend the artisan and traditional foods fair, and a few were jealous of the sweet hand-knit coin pouch I picked up there. Less were jealous of the humitas (tamales) I ate there, chowing on the tasty and abundant corn breaders as I excited told them about the find. The last night was a wet mess, when hasta the most campo campesinos gathered in the dark, grassy soccer field to drink in circles and dance their hearts out to Magia y Amor, the Alto Piura huayno kings guilty of the two best songs I hear five times a day, “¿Porqué mujer?” and “Mirame a los Ojos.” Then it was over. The wind swept away the visitors and left their trash behind.

We took advantage of the first municipal work day in weeks to meet with the mayor and his crew and convince them to opt for our new and improved composting latrine design instead of the expensive pour-flush latrine in caseríos that go days and weeks without piped water in the fall. And it worked! He’s [probably] giving my latrine project in Chimulque some more soles and hooked me up with the Department of Infrastructure so that its one of their top priorities and an evenly shared responsibility. “Hey can you work on these CAD drawings and that technical report for me while I go snowboarding in Chile?” “Wow, thanks…the latrine is gonna be earthquake proof, eh?” “I guess I’m cool with that as long as you dudes pay for it.” “Nice. Oh and I’m shooting for an August 1st start date, ¿es factible?” “Awesome, and can you add monitoring and evaluation of my project to the job description of my primo hermano Gino here so that he does something better than make copies all day?” “Righteous, nos vemos in a couple weeks.”