Jean and I have been in rural Carmen Pampa ten days but it seems like much longer. It is a tough adjustment - new language, new living companions, and the school with its own problems.
So many things here confund us - the beauty and the pain. For example, on a cool sunny Saturday morning a student, Moises Chapahani, took Jean and I to meet his family. He led us along a muddy path etched into the steep hillside with vistas through the trees of the distant mountain villages across the valley. The path was shaded by jungle lush with fruit – avocados, grapefruit, coffee beans both red and yellow, raspberries, bananas and limes. Ripe mandarin oranges fell softly o
nto red-violet Impatience blossoms that cover the forest floor.
nto red-violet Impatience blossoms that cover the forest floor. Moises showed us iridescent blue moths, different types of wasp and bee hives and vultures that clean the valley. We heard the call of the Uchi – like a d
rumming on hollow coconuts. Moises pointed to the black birds with yellow beaks and tails as they dove into their yard-long, swaying sack nests.
rumming on hollow coconuts. Moises pointed to the black birds with yellow beaks and tails as they dove into their yard-long, swaying sack nests.
After a half hour the path crossed a stream and dropped abruptly. We stepped into a small clearing flanked by three huts of adobe block and corrugated tin. In the little dirt yard next to a water spigot that carries water from somewhere up the mountain was Moises’ 80 year old grandfather Celestine. He greeted us in Aymara with a broad, one-toothed smile and hastened to drag a short bench into the sun since there is no power or light inside the house. Moises’ younger brother Renaldo shyly stepped out of the shade. Renaldo is about 18, has epileptic fits and can repeat only a few words. Two years ago he wandered into the jungle and got lost. When they found him days later the dog that had stayed by his side was dead but Renaldo had stayed alive by eating grass. Sr. Damon had driven him to the small hospital.
Now Moises disappeared into the woods and returned shortly with a bag of mandarins. His grandfather clambered up an outdoor ladder to a loft and brought back an old hardcover Reader’s Digest condensation of five books - printed in English. It was inscribed “Ex libris Sr. Mary Catherine” – a gift given to him twenty years ago. So we sat in the sun eating oranges and trying to explain the pictures of Churchill, Roosevelt and Stalin from another time, another world. When we were ready to depart Moises rose to accompany us - his toes sticking out of his sneakers. He cleared his throat and said softly that he was the only one that could help the family now by succeeding in his nursing training. He asked if we could help or knew anyone who could help him pay his school tuition. Ah, so maybe this whole beautiful, muddy, Dr. Seuss trip was a bid for help. This is painful here. There are so many who genuinely need help and so little we can do. The beauty and the pain.
