The family didn't treat their animals the way I expected them to. They kick their dogs and throw rocks at the puppy as a favorite pastime. When the father was milking their cow this afternoon, he nearly ripped the cow's nursing calf away from her udders, in order to obtain a bucket of milk from her. And then he would hit the calf everytime it tried to nurse with a thin switch. How can you hit a creature that is trying to do the most natural thing it knows how to do? I was appalled. They also have this tiny puppy, named 'negrito', that they kick around too. Rosa actually peed on the poor thing. I don't really blame Rose, though, because seh doesn't know that it was wrong. IT gives me hope to see that the other older kids seem more sensible and kinder than the younger ones. I actually really like all the children, with one exception: Yaneth. And even then, I can't dislike her, because she probably has some sort of behavioral problem that not being dealt with properly. Her kind and caring side shone through though, at the most unexpected times.
Let me tell you about one of the craziest days I had in the village: I was resting with the father abuela (the dad's mother), and the kids after harvesting some potatoes, when the neighbor came over to visit with her little son. She became very excited when she spotted my camera and asked me to take pictures of her sons. Being that I had a dinky old film camera that didn't zoom, I was taken aback, but agreed to do so anyway. So I went over, met her kids and husband, and stayed for quite a bit. I found the mother much easier to talk to, and I was a little desperate for a mature conversation, so I decided to stay for dinner. She was eager to feed me, and I was eager to eat something that wasn't potato soup.
I noticed something was up when the kids came to the house and tried to lure me back to the house with stories that they were all leaving to eat dinner at their aunt's. I believed them and started to follow, but the neighbor wouldn't hear of it. She said they were bad kids and that I shouldn't listen to them. So I just stayed, once again.
When I returned to the house, only Yaneth, Lisbeth, Eddie, and Rosa were there. They were all standing atop potato sacks, facing the road, and shielding their eyes from the sun. When I asked them what they were looking at, they told me they were watching their father leave. I received 3 different answers as to where he was leaving for: Santa Cruz, Peru, and Argentina. The reason? The mom was still angry at him for coming home completely snookered that one night. He took yon Kevin with him too.
Talk about a difficult situation. I was left alone with these kids. The father had left the family, and I had no idea when the mother would return. Thank god for television. I don't know what I would've done without the power rangers to save me.
The mother returned well after everyone had gone to sleep. She arrived with the baby and Vismar, brandishing a new DVD (Bambi 2), which he immediately popped into the player, much to my displeasure.
I let the kids break the bad news to the mom about her husband in the morning. It would've been difficult to convey this to her, as I speak no Quechua and she could never really understand me when I spoke to her in Spanish. I really couldn't read her reaction. It seemed a lot like apathetic indifference. She just went about her usual tasks as if nothing had happened. I felt so in the dark about everything. I had no idea what was going on in that house.
The power dynamics in my relationship with the family felt pretty one-sided. I was completely dependent upon the kids to help me understand what was going on. They definitely knew it too, and often took advantage of this to tease me. I wonder what they really thought about me. Am I just another crazy gringa? Or am I an intruder in their intimate private world? The way they treated me, I felt like they saw me as a crazy gringa, trying to understand life in the campo. And I suppose that's pretty accurate.
It really bothers me when people idealize country life and poverty. Yes it's admirable and remarkable how little you really need to live your life, but at the same time, it's easy to idealize an existence you yourself don't have to live every single day. It's really difficult. 8 yrs olds cooking their fathers dinners. I don't every want to make my child to that. But I feel like I have a life philosophy that's completely different and almost incomparable than this family, due to the vast material and cultural differences of our backgrounds.
Every night I was there, I dreamt of my family, my friends, my home. That alone tells me that it was not the place for me.
It's pretty strange because my father was raised in a small village outside Bangalore. This existence and lifstyle isn't that distant from me. Or at least, it shouldn't be. But when my father came to the states, he left his village roots behind him. Sudha and I don't really know too much about his life in the village. We used to tease him about being a village boy, collecting cow patties and walking barefoot. He is not ashamed of his village background, but he definitely could not re=live it. In fact, he's quite the germophobe. This stay has made me certain that I will visit my father's village once again.
Wednesday, March 19th
I spent nearly the whole day sitting with the abuelas, drinking chicha (a beer brewed from corn) at the neighbors. They were bad mouthing the childrens' father, chastising him for leaving his wife with 7 children under the age of 15 to feed. This was all in Quechua, so I simply smiled and nodded and continued to be bored out of my mind.
There was a man also sitting with us who questioned the fact that I was from the U.S. He thought I was Bolivian. So I began my prepared spiel about why I was brown and from the states. He asked me other uncomfortable questions such as:
1) How much did your plane ticket to come here cost?
2) Do your parents send you money?
3) Can you buy me chicha?
4) Did you know that Suma means "to add" in Spanish?
I did exactly the opposite of what I planned to do when asked these questions. I blatantly lied. I used to think that was unethical to do so, but I felt very uncomfortable, like I was in an interrogation room. I didn't want to seem like a clumsy, spoiled, privileged little rich kid. Which is, sadly, what I am...but trying to change. I don't know how. This was definitely more difficult than I thought it would be.
But MAAAAAAAN, abuelita arrived super borracha (totally smashed!) at the end of the day. She danced around the house, chased and slapped the kids, and threw me around the room while the kids forced a pollera (traditional dress) on me. She screamed at the top her lungs in Quechua and threw her head back and cackled. She was delightful.
Thursday, March 20th
My last morning in the village. I began thinking about how I must seem to them, my family for 5 days. I show up, with my boy clothes and expensive boots, a seeming neat freak who's littered the field near the house with bright pink toilet paper. She washes her hand too much and doesn't even bother to learn Quechua. She hogs one whole bed all to herself and can't even peel a single potato properly. She makes faces when we blow our noses and thinks she's too good for the food we give her; she's never finished a whole plate! Why should we bring her into our home and put our intimate lives under her scrutiny? We don't owe her a damn thing.
And they would be right to think all those things. Who am I to judge them? They were kind enough to take me into their home and open their lives to me for 5 whole days. I'm grateful for that.
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