P.C. Anniversary, Part 2

First Site: Valparaiso

     So, did anyone show up to my first class, teaching by myself? Yes – two. More students showed up over following days and, in the end, it was a wonderful group of women. This was not atypical, as I would learn teaching subsequent courses. Occasionally, I'd have the class announced on the radio before heading to the site since most families had a transistor radio. I realized that was how they knew what time it was. I don't recall seeing clocks on walls, especially in rural sites without electricity, and few had watches.

     Having been drilled my whole life in being punctual, I would learn that other people weren't as ruled by the clock as we Americans are, yet were just as intelligent and had skills I'd never dreamed of, often with little or no formal education, and many that were far more useful than any I possessed. In other words, I would learn patience and humility. Most of the women had families to care for, meals to prepare without refrigerators, a microwave or electric stove – all used wood-burning stoves. Often our meeting site was a great distance, they came on foot, by horseback or mule. Many had animals to care for, as well. Some classes were lean because during harvest seasons, mainly of coffee or cacao.

Uncomfortable

     Being stared at took getting used to. I was different, a foreigner, something most people in rural areas hadn't seen before. And I talked funny, made mistakes with the language, sometimes really funny (stupid) ones, prompting laughter or blank looks. Kids were especially good at staring. It was unnerving at first; I felt like I should be doing something entertaining. But, it was fun to engage them in conversation and soon we'd all be laughing.

     In cities and especially on buses, young men would whistle or practice their few English phrases. “Free love, Miss” was a popular one. “Oo-la-la, Baby” was another. “Gringas” were expected to believe in free love (the '60s had arrived in Latin America!). And/or we were suspected CIA agents. One of my favorite fellow-volunteers was in her 80s. She'd been born in Germany, migrated to the U.S., had a fascinating life and had survived two husbands. Her children were grown and she was a great-grandmother, still open to experiences and adventure. When a man exposed himself to her on the bus one day, she looked him in the eye, shrugged and said she seen much better. Deflating, indeed.

The First Family

     The house I stayed in at Valparaiso was large for the campo (rural area), with various relatives sharing it. It was cement, inside and out, whitewashed, with little furniture other than the basics. Besides a straw mattress on a hard wood bed, I had a chair which served as a nightstand for the candles, book and notebook I always brought along. There were hooks in the wall for hanging clothes. I learned to pack everything I needed for the week in an overnight bag.

     There was no electricity this far up, but water was piped into the house, though laundry and

Boy carries wood for the cob oven

showers were done outdoors. Besides quite a few cattle, there were goats, chickens, turkeys, pigs, cats and dogs running about with the children. There was a cob oven in the “yard.”

     Supper the first night was rice, yucca, beans, an egg and fresh (from just yards away) milk. It would be the same for every meal, though potatoes, fried platano or pasta were served at breakfast and lunch, as well. If there was meat (usually salted and dried, occasionally butchered that day) the Señor and I would get most of it which, of course, made me feel very uncomfortable. I would often claim to be vegetarian, especially in the most remote and poorest sites. Even though, as instructors, we always paid room and board, access to some foods was difficult. Female volunteers tended to gain weight, but, oddly, the fellows lost weight. There were no vegetables or fruits until towards the end of the course at Valparaiso, after we had discussed their importance for almost three weeks. Gardens were rare at this altitude and would be impossible without lots of fencing when you had so many animals, domestic and wild. The lack of refrigeration limited how much you could bring home on the few trips to a market in town. One volunteer in a very remote site ended up with scurvy.

      I'd not picked up the coffee habit in college since it made my face break out. Still, it was offered everywhere in Colombia, by even the poorest families, since they usually grew and roasted it themselves. So, I learned to accept it graciously when offered. A sizable chunk of panela (brown cane sugar) was always added and, since it was quite strong, it was served in demitasse cups. Coffee was the one addiction I picked up in Colombia.

      It would turn out that at every site, with every family, I would be served meals either alone or with the father/husband only. The Señora, no matter how close we had come to be, ate in the kitchen with the other women and children. I always asked if I could eat in the kitchen with them, but it just wasn't done. At Valparaiso, the Señora would come out and stand to visit with me briefly, then I'd hear her tell everyone in the kitchen what I'd said. It was odd and awkward, but just how it was. Often the Señor was uncomfortable too and engaged in little, if any, conversation. Here, he had his transistor radio on, right by his plate, the whole time. We did occasionally comment on a bit of news from the radio. One day we got on the subject of men landing on the moon. He said it didn't really happen, it was all Hollywood. When I brought a Time magazine back with me the following week with photos from the mission, he just looked at me with a smile that said I was a sucker to believe it. It was understandable, given the difficulty in just getting to the nearest village here. Besides, the photos were so amazingly sharp and such beautiful color, even I found myself questioning them. Before leaving the table, he asked me how many days it takes to fly from Bogota to the U.S..

      Since there was no t.v., evenings were often spent with the family, visiting on the porch, sometimes singing, sometimes playing games. When it got dark, everyone went to bed. Volunteers had access to lockers full of books so I always had one with me and would read by candlelight.
     So much for home life. What about the classes?
     We'll head there next. I promise.

Note: as recommended at the time, all my photos were saved as slides and aren't the sharpest, but will help illustrate these stories. Today, volunteers can snap photos on their phones and send them across the globe lickety-split. What would the Señor think of that?