Author (#23)June 2009 Archives

This is a story from Pisco that continues to inspire the students. Marcelo (none of us knew his last name) was along with Percy, one of the hardest workers in making the floor for Abuelita Ana. We knew he was not related; he lived across the street. Why was he working so hard on our project, we wondered.

One day at sunset, while I waited with Mr. Daggett for the concrete to dry a bit before he finished polishing it, I sat with Abuelita Ana on a bench by the slab. We watched the sun set slowly over the Pacific Ocean, only a couple hundred feet from her house.

She explained that Marcelo was a child ten years ago. He and a friend of his hung out by the beach every day, child-age beach bums, if you will. One day, they went swimming, but his friend disappeared. Marcelo did not know what to do, so he just sat at the beach waiting. Abuelita Ana noticed him there and talked to him. Marcelo had no family to return to. After a week, the body washed back to the shore. Marcelo continued to stay at the beach, listless. Ana took him in to her house, and he has been with the family ever since.

She noticed that Marcelo sometimes goes into epileptic seizures, but cannot afford the medicatons to prevent this.

Marcelo rarely spoke while we were there. He would just grab a shovel and begin mixing or carrying load after load. When we tried to spell him, as we had to do for ourselves, he would wave us off and keep working. When we said our goodbyes, he broke into sobs and kept hugging us, with an emotion the men in Peru rarely display.

All of us remember Marcelo´s great devotion to the family and to us.

Joe is a decisive person, and he lets us know his decisions right away. Recently, he has declared his approval more often about the Peruvian cuisine, including almost everything the cook at Miguel Pro served and, yesterday afternoon in Cuzco, the mushroom soup and burrito. He scored a goal in our game with the fathers of the host families, and in one magnificent missed kick, did a complete somersault on the concrete without a scratch.


Peter is what they call a true ¨caballero,¨ a gentleman. Although he towers over the Peruvians, he is always gracious, helpful and curious to learn more. In Cusco, he is soaking up the sights.


Adam, for all his athleticism on the job, carrying wheelbarrows of concrete and on the soccer field hustling after the ball with all the zest of a linebacker in football, is quite a scholar. He wrote out his farewell to his family, had it translated, then read it to them at our farewell party on Sat night, changing many of the words into his best Latin pronunciations. Everyone enjoyed his enthusiasm. On the plane yesterday, he was explaining passages from Dante´s Divine Comedy that he found interesting.


Jimmy horsed around with his host-family brothers until the very end, they evidently were acting like true brothers. Here in Cuzco, his American radar located the McDonalds and within seconds was in line. We had to coax him back, but who knows if this morning he has not already chowed down on the Egg McMuffin, though he might have to reread Adam´s cautionary blog about Peruvianized American food.


Ben spoke his farewell in flawless Spanish. He has mastered ingress and egress from multiple modes of transportation: bus, taxi, minivan, airplane, mototaxi. He even made his way up the steep street of slippery ancient cobbles on the way to the San Blas procession.


Blake acted like the big brother to 10 year old Martin, his host-brother. He bought a soccer ball for him, and when Martin broke down as he tried to speak at the farewell ceremony, Blake went over, sat down next to him and consoled him, putting his arm around him.

Roger was one of the ¨stokers¨ for the beastly cement mixer, feeding its hungry craw for each round. Even I could not pull the shovel from his determined hands. Yesterday, he bought a stylish alpaca sweater but noticed a hole in the should seam. He was quite impressed that the saleswoman sewed it up with an alpaca strand in just a minute.

After extended goodbyes with our host families in Tacna, we flew to Cusco. Some of us got headaches from the 10k foot altitude, but after a late lunch all were feeling fine enough to go shopping and touring. After visiting the immense Cathedral filled with gold-leaf reredos and hints of Incan theology hidden in the artisanship, some of us went to where the sound of a band announced a procession in honor of St. Blaise.

Most of us are familiar with the blessing with candles in early February on his feast day, but I did not realize that he was an Armenian bishop who was also a doctor and the patron saint of gynecologists. For that reason the statue here has red gloves. Also why many expectant families come to pray in this church.

I got to the church just when the band entered the square after a procession. The statue, at least 15 feet tall, including mini statues of assisting priests and acolytes, was sitting on a platform in the square outside the church.

Suddenly, around 30 men in San Blas vests emerged from the crowd and took their places at three poles beneath the statue, which must weigh as much as a car. They lifted it on their shoulders as the band struck up as reverent a tune as a brass band with drums could muster. The men began shuffling forward, then turning right and left. When the band struck certain notes, the porters all genuflected and made the sign of the cross. It was an arduous prayer, taking strength and coordination. I thought it was the male counterpart to the efforts of childbirth. The stature swayed and bobbed.

The band struck up a second piece, this one faster, and the carriers shuffled around in circles even faster. I was terrified that they would stumble under the weight. I didn´t know who to be afraid for more, the statue, the men or the crowd, which had to give way repeatedly to the swaying, almost drunken lurches of the men. Then, the doors of the chuch swung open, and the statue started to surge up the 20-foot flight of stairs, just as suddenly, it slipped back down the steps toward the crowd.

That was when the firecrakers went off. To call them firecrackers does not do them justice, for they were more like sonic booms. One series, two series, three, four, five, interspersed with the wild allegrettos of the band, until finally the men squeezed into the portal with the statue, the miter of Bishop Blaise and his shepherd´s crook just barely fitting into the space.

For a moment, the statue was poised at the door, as if to say his goodbyes, to the sound of even more sonic explosions.

When the statue was finally swallowed into the church, I joined the rush to enter. I made it in just before the band leader held more of the crowd back, so that the musicans could enter. Their brazen horns, which filled the plaza outside, were nearly deafening inside.

The whole event was a form of excessive, passionate prayer. One could not help but be swept up with the power of childbirth, which San Blas´ intercession is meant to protect.

I stayed in the ensuing silence for a few minutes with the men in vests and the faithful who pressed close to the statue, once more near its place at one side of the nave. I prayed fervently for my daughter-in-law Anya, about the give birth in August to our first grandchild.

After working for a week, we took a break on Thurs June 18th for a retreat. We called it a ¨pilgrimage retreat,¨ because in addition to prayer and discussion, we visited three places where people of faith are making a difference.

Our three themes reflected the ¨hermenuetic circle¨ of doing justice that frees us from poverty: See, Act and Evaluate. For seeing, we meditated on blind Bartimaeus (Mark 10), listening to Jesus ask us ¨What do you want me to do for you,¨ and considering that we could ask, with Bartimaeus, ¨Master, I want to see,¨ to really see the situation of the poor today.

The second mediation, stressing Action, was on the Rich Young Man, also from Mark 10, where Jesus, ¨looking with love¨ on a young man eager to prove his virtue, challenges him to sell his possessions and follow him. We too, are challenged to not just to sacrifice 3 weeks, but to make it our life´s habit to include the poor in our actions and our careers.

Then, we hopped on public buses (c. $.15 a person) to visit a poor high school, Santa Cruz, run by the same priests who sponsor Univ. of Notre Dame in the US.  It is in a huge ¨invasion¨ area, where people displaced from the mountains and jungle are flooding to the coasts. They build little houses of estera, or woven cane.

The school, only 5 years old, has grown with the neighborhood; there are still some classrooms of estera, yet they are building some with block. The enthusiasm of the children was overwhelming.

Next stop was a Brophy-type school, Cristo Rey, which Fr. Green, S.J., started in the 1960s. It is the best school in the city, to all accounts, with a classroom of internet computers where students are designing web pages, an inside Gym (a rarity in Peru) and a GRASS soccer field.

There is also a cow with its calf, guinea pigs (which if you haven´t heard about cuy, are NOT raised as pets) and acres of olive groves. It warmed my composter´s heart to know that the middle and upper class students are required to spend some time milking and harvesting.

After lunch downtown, we gathered by the Eiffel fountain under a Bougainvillea cupola and meditated on the Beatitudes, stressing the happiness of those who dedicate themselves to voluntary poverty. Mr. Daggett looked like a street preacher, waving his Bible around as he spoke. We then discussed an article ¨The Cost of Short-Term Trips.¨ Which gave us guidelines on how to avoid paternalistic mistakes many make when they come to poor countries.

We finished our day by visiting a center for street children, which was started by a Jeff Thielman, a Jesuit volunteer in the ´80s. Originally it was meant primarily for shoe-shine children and others who had no schooling, but it has evolved into an after school program and adult education center. Doctors who graduated from Cristo Rey started a pro-bono clinic there. There is also a sewing workshop, where poor women can learn a trade.

We had all read Jeff´s book about how he started the center, so it was a fitting end to our retreat to see how his sacrifice and that of the Jesuits and their staff is a living example of the happiness of the poor. When we arrived, the children were assembled for a talent show. Smiles and enthusiasm all around our knees!

After lunch I stopped by the job site to see the progress.  There was great milling around as everyone reapplied sun block, donned work their gloves and looked with pride at what they had accomplished in the morning.  They had set three of the caged columns and filled the front trench with concrete:

 

 

The trenches are each about 30 inches deep and an extra 8-10 inches deeper at the point of each column:

 

 

They are wide enough that kids took naps in them at times -sorry I couldn´t get a picture of that!  But, it is now after lunch and some are having more difficulty getting motivated back to work than others:

 

 

Suddenly, it was as though someone turned on a switch!  Everyone was up and moving and it brought memories of Christmas movies to mind--you know the ones where all the elves are feverishly working on assembly lines to complete all the toys.

 

The cement mixer operator started the mixer, added water and cement.  The mixer was flipped and two guys started shoveling sand and rock into it:

 

 

Then three guys lined up with their wheel barrows, the mixer was flipped again to fill each wheel barrow in turn:

 

 

Each full wheel barrow was pushed over to the designated spot, tipped and the concrete poured into the trench:

 

 

 

As the cement is poured into the trench, two guys make sure the column cage has been stabilized, kept level and plumb, as they push and guide the concrete to fill the area:

 

 

As the trenches are filled, another guy drops big rocks into the concrete to give greater strength and to assume a lot of the volume: 

 

This assembly continues again and again.  There is no talking.  Everyone´s energy is concentrated to the work.  Again and again and again.  Team Brophy in Peru!

I have tagged along on this Peru trip with my husband, Mr. Daggett, for the purpose of seeing Peru.  But I´ve had the pleasure of hanging out here in Peru with some amazing kids!  Here are just a few of my impressions.

 

I spent most of our time in Pisco being sick, but I did attend the baptism and the party following.  What a hoot to watch how the cultures blended as the family welcome us all into their home where they had moved all the furniture against the wall and turned up the music for dancing!  The students clustered, encouraging one another to be the first to ask a young lady to dance--Adam did it!  Soon everyone was dancing.  Jimmy and Joe were entertaining the little boys with jokes, wrestling and nonsense.  Roger even was able to charm Adrianna (the 2 yr old who was baptized) to dance with him--and she did not warm up to any of the rest of us!

 

When Ben had his soccer accident, it was interesting to see all the students surround him, offering their amateur medical advice, lift him into the taxi and be very solitious.  Then they all made sure he was included in everything: bringing him home food when he couldn´t go to dinner with us, helped him get around before he got the crutches, carried his luggage, helped him on and off the buses.  They were all the best EMT´s!  And, Ben, never one to take advantage, did not complain at all.  But once he got those crutches, he has become VERY independent.

 

Here in Tacna, I have had the chance to work with the students on the work site--I did not think there would be any work that I could do or that Ben could do,

 

 

but someone found some!  The land here is sandy and rocky and there are lots of earthquakes so the people have developed a building process that is significantly different from the US.  Initially, very deep footings are dug.  But because the land is so sandy, it is necessary to wet the ground to prevent cave-ins along the trenches.  Here are the students on the first day of digging:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

By the time the site is ready for pouring footings these trenches will be almost 3 ft deep.  It took the students 3 days to complete the digging.  Peter was the most steadfast in the trenches, choosing not to rotate to other jobs. 

 

The corners are structurally reinforced by the creation of a concrete pillar that requires a rebar cage.  This is built in several steps.  First the rebar, that comes coiled, is cut into short lengths:

 

Then it is pounded out straight to remove the curve from the coil:

Then it is bent into a rectangle: (Jim started this job but Blake took over and made literally 190 of them!)

 

 

Someone cuts small wire into hundreds and hundreds of 10¨ lengths: (guess who got this job!)

Finally, the rectangles are tied to larger rebar with the small wires to create the cage for each pillar.  The house we are working on requires nine pillars so the students work on these and the digging at the same time, rotating jobs to keep all the muscles warm:

But the most important part of all of this is that while the students work, their amazing minds keep going!  There are philosophical discussions of the value of any human life, theological discussions of limbo and hell, deep analyses of different teaching styles of the Brophy teachers, as well as the ever popular, who makes the best hamburger, who is the best soccer player, what is the best car, stereo, band, movie, video game, etc. etc.  Teenagers are remarkable how they can keep all these various topics active in their brains while their bodies continue to move to accomplish someting totally unrelated!  AND, they still have the energy to play sports after a full day of hard labor:

 

What an amazing experience this is!  I wish everyone could have as much fun as I am having!

 

I thought it would be nice to take a break from the more serious, intelligent tone of the blog to give an insight into some of the smaller things that have happened on the trip.  I´d like to share with you the experience that has changed all of us, in one way or another.
      Hungry and homesick? What´s a better cure than pizza right?  The gas station about a mile away from the hostel in Pisco had, what appeared to be, amazing, American style pizza in the pictures above the oven.  Jimmy, myself, and Mr. Jarczyk were sent to retrieve said pizzas, so we ordered 5 nice, big, presumably tasty, pizzas and awaited their grand appearance from the oven in the gas station.
      Normal gas stations have some cigarettes, candy, some sugary drinks, and the nice ones might even have some liquor.  This was no normal gas station.  This was Peru.  It had a whole room stock full of nostalgia-enducing candies that were sure to make the palette of any American salivate in hopeful anticipation of the gratification of an Oreo cookie or a skittle.  This area would certainly be claimed in the name of Brophy in the days to come.
      Along with the amazing, yet seemingly out of place, candy, there were soft drinks, some Redbull, and other Peruvian sodas like Inka Cola (a trip favorite) and Peru Cola.  There was also a whole wall which I´m sure has only appeared to people in dreams.  Bottle after bottle of assorted liquors, wines, and beers, including a very large amount of Pisco, straight from Pisco.
      The absurdity of this gas station finally culminated in the pizzeria, which now holds the life line between Peru and the US for several Americans craving American food in it´s very ovens.  This is not to say that Peruvian food is bad, but there is a limit for chaufa and saltado, this said limit had been reached for some.
      The conversation between myself, Jimmy, and Mr. Jarczyk while we awaited our doughy prizes spanned topics from photography to what Brophy was like a decade ago.  This talk was just a side note for what we were all really thinking; it was just a matter of time until 5 pizzas, 5 pizzas which would fill the tanks of some very weary and sore volunteers, and would spring from the ovens only meters away.  These pizzas were the Ellis Island of our hopes and dreams, a gateway back home, even if just for one meal.
      I have never seen a more beautiful woman in my life.  She emerged from the haze of the wood burning ovens in the kitchen holding the Holy Grail to our Crusade in deceivingly plain, white boxes.  There was no disguise cunning enough to tempt us through the trail of us Templars.
      With the pizzas in hand, we hailed a moto taxi and within minutes were on our way to the hostel to deliver the captured prize.  That´s when disaster struck.  The sound was unmistakable; it was the death rattles of a moto taxi, our golden chariot across the skys, gave a very unwelcome ado just meters away from the gas station.  The frantic pulls from the driver to restart his moto were all but futile.  He quickly clambered out of the vehicle as he saw his passengers were growing impatient.  We watched his head bob around near the engine compartment from the rear window of the taxi as he struggled to breathe a new life into his once great stallion.
      At that moment, another miracle occurred.  After obtaining our cheesy, American goodness, I could not imagine that the night could get better, lest I jinx my luck.  But alas! The moto roared to life after the driving once again began to chug away on the pull start; roaring is of course relative to a 150cc scooter engine.  Once again our precious cargo was on it´s way to its final destination, the stomachs of our patiently awaiting comrades.
      We arrived at the hostel in a matter of moments and we quickly exited the moto, taking precaution to ensure the safety of the pies and pay the driver for his valiant efforts.  The 5 solitary white boxes were rushed to the second floor where a circle had gathered; a scene reminiscent of The Lord of the Flies ensued.  The boxes were torn apart, knives delicately, but deliberately, divided the slices, and the portal to our distant home opened.
      We each had a slice at the ready, ready to be chewed, ready to be enjoyed, ready to be digested.  We bit in.  It was delicio- wait, what is this?!  Aghast, we had been fooled!  This was not pizza, but a foul, sweetly flavored imposter!  It had suckered us in and made us to believe it was truly pizza.  We had been duped!  There was not even a faint hint of the marinara or rich mozzarella for which we craved.  All this buildup, only to be had by an inadequate, unsavory con to our taste buds.
      The portal had vanished as quickly as it had appeared, the gates closed, the Grail once again lost to the sands of time.  This hack left us crazing American pizza all the more.  We went to bed that night with a lesson learned, a lesson about pizza in a Peruvian gas station.  Hopefully upon completion of this tale you too will realize our fated mistake.

They take their baptisms quite seriously in Pisco. At times it seemed liked a small wedding, but it was definitely one of those experiences that plunged you  right into Peruvian culture. The church of the baptism, San Francisco de la Playa, was very symbolic of the surrounding community: simple, poor, and full of people. It was a short ceremony, only about 30 minutes, and three babies from the family with whom we worked were baptised.
Directly after the service ended, pictures with the "gringos" commenced, as many, many were taken. We took some cabs to a rather large house (by Pisco standards), toasted the baptism of the baby, ate chicken and chaufa (fried rice), drank easily over a metric ton of inka kola and started to dance. Though it was (extremely) awkward at first, soon everyone was up and dancing -- including Mr. Jarczyk at one point in time. It was amazing to experience a pure and unadulterated aspect of Peruvian culture, because so many times when traveling we get caught in the tourist part of a country, which really isn´t the country at all. There are some pictures and a sypnopsis of the baptism and party below, but I wanted to share my take on the party. ¡Hasta luego!

Here we are, Tacna, Peru! It has been a fun, interesting, and very educational so far, and I can´t believe it, but it is half-over! Our work has been tough, our Spanish much better, and our hearts and minds changed. In Tacna, we are staying with host families, which has turned out to be a fun and interesting experience, full of new adventures (like trying to express yourself in a foreign language). Yesterday we started our work on a house by digging ditches or footings for the exterior walls. In the mornings we have breakfast with family, afternoons we have work on the house, (delicious) lunch at the local school, at nights we have dinner with family and a big soccer game after that. A lot here in Tacna is different than in Phoenix, or Pisco even, but interesting and fun in its own way.

Some would argue that it is basketball, baseball, or maybe even football.  But no, the greatest game ever played has to be charades.  Nothing has come more in handy to me than charades in the previous day and a half or so of living with the families here in Tacna.  Although I´m lucky enough to have a family that speaks some English, hand signals still transcend the language barrier.
In Pisco we would go out and work for the day and be immersed in the Peruvian culture, but at the end of the day we would still go back to the hostel and be able to spend a night with our peers.  Since our arrival in Tacna, we have spent more time with our host families than with each other.  It´s truly an enlightening experience to have plunged right into the middle of a normal family in Peru.  My family reminds me a lot of my own; the mother would like nothing more than to have me eat until I burst, because she is worried that I´m not eating enough, there are several little girls, one of which is just older than my niece and another who is just learning to walk, I was lucky enough to see her take some of her first steps actually.  A great comment from the mother during almost every meal is that she wants me to be "strong like the Incas" so she is sure to sit at the table while I eat everything in front of me.  However, it is different to live in a household with several generations, the grandmother, mother, and oldest daughter with her own children, whereas back home I just live at home with my mom, and my sisters have their own houses not far from my mother and me.
Although this is only the second day in the house, I feel like part of the family, as they told me at dinner last night, and I am just as comfortable here as I would be back home.  I´ll try to write more later about my experiences in the house with my host family, but my first impressions are good and I hope I made the same impression with them.

We arrived safely in Tacna at about 10 am this morning.  Our bus ride went smoothly and all the boys (and teachers) are with host families.  We finally found some crutches for Ben so he can get around a little bit.  We are starting our work project tomorrow and will be posting some pictures and reflections soon.

Peace,

JP Jarczyk

Today was a very interesting day. It started off with a late start, we got to sleep in an extra hour! After waking up, we made our way to breakfast and then to the work site to finish up what we had started. We made quick work of the quarter-slab of concrete, and finished before it was time for lunch. With the help of Percy, Marcelo, and all of the Brophy guys, we knocked out the work quickly and efficiently. After finishing work, we went to lunch, and enjoyed one of the most delicious meals we have had here in Peru- "pollo saltado" (pretty much a chicken stir fry with onions, fries, and peppers). After filling our stomachs with pollo saltado and Peru Cola, we went back and played marbles and soccer with Percy, Marcelo, and Adrian. During our game of soccer, there was a rather unfortunate occurance, Ben Jackson, and his way to scoring his 4th goal of the game, rolled and broke his foot. While Mr. JP Jarczyk and Mrs. Daggett took Ben to the local hospital, the rest of us took part in the blessing of the house we are currently building, as well as the house they built last year. Today has been filled with adventures: good things and bad, but overall was an unforgettable experience.

Roger Bond-Choquette took a concrete shower when the plastic can (balde) he was carrying  lost its bottom. He ¨jerked and cleaned¨ many baldes of concrete and mixed rock and sand (hormigon).

Peter Johnson, our tallest worker, stooped to mix concrete with the rest. When the Deacon, exhausted with his 50 shovelfuls, looked up, there was Peter, ready to take over.

Adam Triplett noticed that the Deacon was given a wire cross by one of the local shop-owners, and he looked about the worksite for piece of string strong enough to serve as a necklace. Talk about shopping local!

Joe DeWulf is on his way to being a doctor. He was ill today, but was an accurate diagnostician of his symptoms.

Ben Jackson, in imitation of the Incan postal runners, went back to the work site during lunch to see if the new load of hormigon had arrived (it had not). Then after lunch he ran back again to those of us still walking to tell us that it had. That´s dedication!

Jimmy Wentworth was a Mini-Percy today, showing his furious cement-mixing skills and (almost) keeping up with Marcelo (Read Marcelo´s story in a subsequent entry). Jimmy took a break to play marbles with the kids, even designing a mini-pool table for them.

Blake Senn, contrary to what others might think, did NOT break the whellbarrow, although he carried just about every load of sand that Percy didn't. His silent dedication to the job is a great example to the others.

Today, we poured a quarter of the slab. We were without Percy, the Peruvian Machine, who had to work at the fishery on a day shift. Besides, we all felt that Saturday´s 2 tons of concrete mixed by hand was too much, especially since we nearly missed the baptism.

Today, the guys took the initiative. While Mr. Daggett and I were mostly concerned about finishing the forms, with Peter Johnson´s steady hand at the combi (mallet), the Brophy students took charge of the whole mixing process. Before I looked up, they had mixed and poured two batches.

It may not seem like a big deal, but if the eyes of all the workers are not on the pond of water that settles inside the batch (sometimes called "the volcano"), the water could flow out and with it the concrete, the most expensive part of the mix, without which the pour is weakened consderably. In past years, Mr. D and I could expect at least one of these disappointing events a day. Yet so far with this great group of guys, no ¨lava flows.¨

On Saturday we had planned to leave work a little early so that we could go back to our hostel to shower and change before going to the baptism for three of Percy and Magali´s children.  In true Peruvian fashion, we bit off a bit more that we could handle but, thanks to Latin American time, got everything done with time to spare.  Our work project here is to lay a concrete slab of about 20 feet by 20 feet on top of which a pre-fabbed wooden house is going to be placed for Magali´s parents who also live with one of Magali´s sisters and her children.  We decided that we could pour half the slab on Saturday and the other half on Monday. 

 

 

We got up early and started mixing the gravel, sand and cement together and then adding water and mixing again before carrying the wet concrete in buckets.  We had about 3 yards of concrete (I am just quoting Mr. Daggett and can´t only say that it´s a whole lot) to fill our first forms.  We took turns eating lunch and finally about 5:10 pm took off in mototaxis back to the hostel to try to make it back to the 6:00 baptism.

 

Mr. Daggett took one for the team and stayed back to finish smoothing the concrete and protect it as best as he can from the dogs running around.  I took a quick shower and put on my "nice" clothes and headed to the church as I was told to arrive a few minutes before 6:00 since I was the godfather of Percy and Magali´s two month old who they also named after me   In true Peruvian fashion I arrived, searched for Percy and Magali, went down the street to get a drink, came back to the church and waited a little longer for Percy and Magali to actually arrive.  Despite living here for over two years, I still think that "American" time applies to certain important things like a baptism.  It doesn´t.

The ceremony was a baptism en masse with about 10 children receiving the sacrament.  It was short and sweet -- not much talking, just baptizing.  I was the only gringo godparent and the only one bright red.

 

After the baptism, the whole group was the center of attention for as many photos as people could take.

 

 

 

After the baptism we went to the home of Percy´s parents for dinner and some time to share with the family.  Like any Peruvian get together, dancing started even before the food came out.  Adam was the man with the cojones to ask one of Percy and Magali´s nieces to dance.

Deacon Stickney then danced with Magali and showed our boys how to dance "old school."

After finally getting a good song to show my stuff to the youngsters, I too stepped out on the floor.

Before heading home for a well-deserved night of rest, all seven of the boys (unable to resist the pull of young latin women) took the floor.

We first met Percy and Magali when we arrived in Pisco last year.  Their small home had three of its walls fall during the earthquake in August of 2007, which almost fell on top of Magali and her daughter Arianna. 

When we arrived to Pisco last year the whole family was sleeping in a tent on their concrete floors with their walls reconstructed with plastic and cardboard to keep the wind out.  We worked on their house and really left doing little of immediate consequence.  They were still sleeping in the tent but did have some footings and a little bit of a wall in their backyard. 

This past November, we were fortunate enough to receive a portion of the Turkey Drive funds to help Percy, Magali and their family along.  Wooden pre-fabbed homes have become more common here (odd in a place with no trees) because they cost less and are less dangerous during an earthquake.  Percy and Magali used the money we sent to purchase one of these homes and extend their floor back to where we had put footings last July.  So they now have two bedrooms (each almost completely filled with beds for themselves and their kids) and a small front room with a table where the whole family can eat together. 

Today was our reflection day.  We started off by waking up early and heading to a town called Paracas.  From there we took a boat out two a few islands where we saw sea lions and penguins. 

 

All though some of us were sleeping due to the Dramamine, it was a fun time.  After we finished our boat trip, we were presented with the opportunity to go on a bus tour of a National Park.  Most people were tired and found the hostel much more appealing, but Joe, Deacon Stickney, Mr. and Mrs. Daggett and I decided that we were up for one more adventure.  We loaded into a local van which took us into this massive desert, about 20 minutes of driving we pulled over and walked around.  Although, being surrounded by nothing but desert for miles may sound boring,  it was truly amazing.  Next we drove for a little bit more and wound up at a cliff that lead down to the ocean.  This was very cool because in front of us was the big blue ocean, and behind us was miles of hot, dry desert.  After observing the breathtaking views of this overlook, we drove a little bit longer and wound up at a beach.  All beaches are fun to go to, but this beach was amazing because unlike any other beach I have ever seen in my life, the sand was red.  We walked around the beach for a couple of minutes, and realized that it was time to go. We then returned to the hostel with some cool pictures and priceless memories. 

A vignette from 6/4 our first work day. The house we are working on is only 100 yards from the ocean, so I took the boys there during a lull in the action. This, the same Pacific that touches our shores, became Anti-pacific in August, 2007, when the earthquake hit. The tsunami raised the water gradually but steadily. Some that lived close to the water drowned. But all were treading water in the winter cold, Percy's brother just stood as the water raised up to his neck before it receded.

On Saturday, June 6th, all the boys finished the last batch of cement at 5.05 pm, then hopped into Mototaxis for the one sol (35 cent) ride to the hostel, cleaned up, then piled into more motos (3 per taxi) to get to the Baptism of Percy and Magali's three children by 6pm. They all made it. The church, San Francisco, is across the street from the Pacific Ocean, and was destroyed in the earhquake. Like many buildings here, rebuilding has stayed away from block, which is too expensive and brings back fearful memories for mamy people. The walls of the chuch were of woven cane, stained with varnish for more dignity. Bamboo posts five inches in diameter, shipped from the Amazon, held up the thin metal roof.

Father Jose celebrated the baptism. He appeared very ordinary in his liturgical style, speaking words of responsibility to the godparents and efficiently inviting the ten or so families to the font, pouring the water and anointing them.

 

Yet he is well respected for his quick action after the earthquake. He arranged for water distribution immediately, then passed out food as people filtered back to their homes. Abuelita Ana recalled that he helped many survive those first few days. People responded, she said, by cooking for each other in the neighborhood.
Baptism speaks of hope for the future. All of the participants were dressed in their finest. Mrs. Daggett marvelled that such fine clothes should emerge from such poor houses. How did they clean and iron them?

The hope continued at the party afterwards when the older generation sat on the sidelines as the teens danced. All the Brophy guys got up eventually and moved around on the dance floor. We enjoyed their energy, and even the Daggetts, Percy and Magali and Deacon Stickney took turns on the dance floor.

 

For more pictures, visit http://www.flickr.com/photos/39087496@N05/.

After taking apart the front room of the house, we had to level the ground.

The original structure of the home of Abuela Ana is made of a collection of cardboard, plastic, wood beams, and "estera" which is the woven bamboo on the right side of the picture.  We took apart the front room of the house to use the space to put down a concrete floor.

Breakfast started as usual with avocado sandwiches and a papaya
smoothie. We moved quickly to our work site to start digging the
footings for the concrete slab, though this was hard work for some of
us, we (Jimmy and Roger) decided marbles would be much more fun. We
talked a lot with some of the neighborhood kids about school, music,
and los Estados Unidos. While Joe was temporarily incapacitated with
with a sickness that required the services of a plumber, we had some
raw fish with lemon sauce for an appetizer and some chicken (not feet
this time), rice, and potatoes. After lunch, we kicked back, and
worked occasionally, while more and more kids joined our game of
marbles.

 

Even though we were dead tired, we decided to play a pick-up
game of fùtbol (soccer) with some Peruvian kids at the park. Needless
to say, we got smoked. After a nice big dinner of a quarter of a
chicken each, we walked through down town, we all took part in the
purchase of souvenirs. Everyone had a good time down town, with the
exception of Roger, who got pooped on by a bird. Tonight might be an
early night, considering how tired everyone is after some long days of
travel and work.

Hasta Luego,

Jimmy and Roger

Hola,
 
This is my first time writing for the group´s blog for this trip and as of now we are in Pisco. Pisco is a way smaller town than Lima and it is one of the places that experienced the most damage from the earthquake in 2007. So far my experience in Peru has been pretty unique. When we first arrived in Lima our group from Brophy stuck out quite a bit from the rest of the people and this difference is even more obvious in Pisco . It has been very interesting seeing how the native people here perceive Americans. In Pisco we have been greeted and waved to by many people when our group walks down the streets. It is pretty funny sometimes because the children get the most shy and are the very curious about us. This is probably because they have not seen many foreigners before, especially Americans. Also in Pisco, along with in Lima, whenever we walk anywhere on the streets our group receives quite a few stares from the native people. This is not a bad thing but it is just because we are different from everyone else. This has been one of the most interesting experiences for me because for one of the first times in my life I have been looked at as a stranger and even more I have been looked at as a member of the minority.
 
Also while in Pisco we have started our first work project. In our work project we are helping a family make modifications to their new house after their house fell down during the 2007 earthquake. All in all my experience in Peru has been very good while eye-opening at the same time.

 

El Bumerang, the hostal we are staying at in Pisco, Peru.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Picture of Iglesia de San Fransisco by Adam Triplett

I am currently sitting in the Pay Purix, our hostel for the night here in Lima.  All of us are just winding down and preparing to go to bed, only to wake up in a few hours to catch an early morning bus to Pisco.  Most of the teachers have gone to bed and the 7 of us are either checking our emails or playing a very intense game of fooseball.

Since we arrived in Lima this afternoon, we have all gotten a taste of Peru.  Roger, Blake, and myself had the oppurtunity to go to the Iglesias de San Fransico, the Church of St. Francis, in downtown Lima with Deacon Stickney.  The church was situated very close to the Plaza de Aramas where the President of Peru himself lives.

The church was very ornate and looked straight out of the 16th century, when it was comissioned by the Spanish Conquistador, Fransisco Pizzaro, to commenorate the location of the first Christian mass in Lima.  The church itself had very large oak doors, probably about 15 feet tall, which were very imposing.  Inside the church was like taking a step back in time, with the amazing scupltures of Jesus, the Virgin Mary, and many other saints and Catholic holy figures.  After waiting for the arrivial of Mr. Daggett and Mr. Jarzyck´s group to get to the church, Deacon Stickney decided that we might as well take the tour of the whole church grounds before it closed at 6.

Once inside the building adjacent to the church, it was esay to see from the wear in the floors just how many people have set foot in that building.  The first part of the tour, which I´m sure my mother would have died to see, was a huge 2 story library with spiral staircase connecting the 2 floors; it was maybe 30 feet wide and 150 feet long.  The books that we were able to see were the chant books that were large enough to be read by monks who were singing in the chant hall.  The chanting area, situated above the catherdral, was no different from the rest of the church; amazingly oranate and beautiful.  There were somewhere near 100 chairs for the monks to sit in, each indivually engraved over 300 years ago.

Once we left the chanting hall we were able to see some of the artwork that lined the walls around the whole church.  What must have been my favorite painting was a depiction of the Fransican order of saints.  The main idea behind the painting was that all the Fransican monks were born from the heart of St. Francis.  It was depicted as a family tree-esque map of all the saints, rooted in the heart of St. Francis.  Some of the other artwork ranged from the 16th centruy to the 18th century.  The ceiling that was in the mainwalk ways, the ceiling not destroyed by the earthquakes in the area, was put together like a puzzle, there was not a single nail used in it´s construction.  There was also a painting of the Last Supper I have never even heard of before; the table was round and there were lots of children and animals around the table.

Underneath the church was the catacombs, holding the bones of over 25,000 monks starting in the 18th centruy.  All of the monks held in the catacombs had paid to be buried there, because the space in the local cemetary had run out.  The floor of the catacombs was on top of past graves of full bodies.

After we exited the church, we went to the Plaza de Armas where we met up with the rest of the group.  We all decided we had a long day and we wanted some real food.  There was a local resturant near the square that was still open and smelled great.  After Mr. Jarzyck finished explaining what exactly was on the menu, most of us chose a potato dish with a yellow pepper sauce for an appitizer, except the Deacon, who chose to have some cow heart, it was actually quite good, it tasted much like an over salted peice of steak.  The main course, for the majority of us, was a Peruvian dish consisting of an onion, french fry, tomato, and chicken stir fry.  Blake, however, decided to go with the grilled chiken and mashed potatoes, which was also quite delcious.

There were some shops around the resturant that we all decided to take a look at, and a few of us got some Peruvian beanies, which will without a doubt show up in a few pictures later on; others got Peru soccer jerseies.  After the shops, we met up with out taxis and made our way back to the hostel, where we are now, just preparing to go to bed and wake up far to early to once again travel tomorrow morning.

Just a note, I apologize for any spelling errors, please remember I´ve been on planes and awaiting layovers and have yet to get a night´s rest.  Oh, and also, my sister wanted me to be sure to say something about her on the blog; I love you Jenni and I have yet to get in trouble here in Peru.  Also to mom and Kelli: hope things are going well back in AZ and I love you both too, I´ll be sure to be safe and stay fed here.

After many hours, three flights, sleeping in the LA airport and on the plane, we arrived safely to Lima.  We were kind enough so wake Deacon Stickney as well.