Jebe y Machete

13 April

Chachapoyas

Capital de

Casas uniformes

Blancas con tejas marrones

Balcones de madera

El tornado Gokta y

Amazonas

Apreciador de

Chaquetas de cuero,

Chistes botas blancas,

El Poderoso Sr. Cautivo,

Chirimoya, granadilla

Humitas, trucha frita,

Cecina, corazón,

Mamei y sapote,

Sensual Karicia y

Kumbia Norteña

Sierra bróther

Charapo coceando

Calor humilde

Pueblo oscuro

Frío luna llena

Cuarto de paja

Hueso anciano

Gorro de gato

Momia retorcida

Maestro de piedra

Tiempo desconocido

Flores su equipaje

Pisco ginger

Jebe y machete

Baina con pelo

Snacks en la disco

Man baby borracho

¡Ponga música!

¡Déjala! ¡Déjala!

¡No vale nada!

(https://picasaweb.google.com/107203502739002405475/Chachapoyas) 

24 April

There’s a party upstairs, goodbye party for an odontologist that interned in the Chalaco Health Center for a few months. I was friendly with her and work with most of the staff of the Health Center, but can’t bring myself to drink and dance with them. It’s that my host mom prepares the food, plays the music loud, and sells the beer, and at 1 AM, she sits near the coal embers of a low open stove, hunched over in a chair made for pre-schoolers, holding a small notebook and a pen, eyes heavy, marking a tally for each bottle taken and directing guests to the bathroom, al fondo a la vereda a la derecha. She waits to sleep, while they whistle and stomp and shout for a short, repeating playlist of popular kumbia and reggaeton songs. I edge through the crowd, bobbing my head in salute to a few but avoiding sustained eye contact. Outside I chat with the municipality’s night watchman, who peers inside warily at the squiggling bodies. I ask him if he parties like this, and he responds that he doesn’t like music. Surprised that such blanket distaste for something so humanly inherent could exist, I pry if there is any music at all that he likes. “Música criolla,” he says. Guess that excludes kumbia. Fair.

Mind over matter. The doc told me I have to change my diet because of my heartburn problems; that the pills I’ve been taking since October shouldn’t be taken for longer than a month. The worst part—no coffee. I’ll be tired and have headaches all day, won’t be able to speak Spanish. My work and wellbeing will suffer. Toñio says that caffeine dependency is all in your head, like most other needs. One time he was traveling up to Chalaco in the middle of the night in the back of a truck, wearing only a t-shirt (and pants) in the freezing, misty open air. He said that to survive he forced himself to think that that he was really hot, and that indeed he began to sweat and thought nothing of the cold. He also tricks himself into not getting nauseous on the bus between Chalaco and Piura, the ride that at least two people puke on every time.