i have grown accustom to the shower, have the hot water figured out and have shopped for toilet seats which they do not sell separately here.. hence the supreme lack of them everywhere! days have become fairly routine with the repeated menu of yogurt, flat buns, some version of sugared cereal, a tang like drink which i have learned is inca cola.. fruit and of course the fried egg and instant coffee. left overs from breakfast become the bagged lunch for those of us interested and i take a flat bun and fruit everyday thus far which is a far cry from toasted tomato sandwiches or cottage cheese and apple with a little crust and peanut butter.
my days begin with spanish classes...beginners.. which are from 8am til 10am. so far i am fairly overwhelmed with the language.. people speak very fast and it is hard to hear it as anything but one long word.. but i am muddling along and yesterday i got a tandom which is a spanish speaking person that you spend time with, which should help. this is set up so that you spend one half hour helping with english and one half hour speaking spanish. my helper, is a lovely girl,Mitsy, probably 18 or so. she is beautiful and hip and speaks english much better than i speak spanish and we had some good laughs as she compared the character of dogs to men.... it was pretty funny.. i'm not really sure what she meant.
the spanish class is small. last week there were about 12 and this week 7 and the teacher is a very good one. good like you mom.. so i am not worried about making a mistake.. and i make lots.
after class real living begins and everyday thus far has been , i will call it .. growing time with spectacular moments in time at the orphanage.
i begin with a week ago tuesday which was my first real full day....class ends and i have decided to start early with the boys rather than beginning at 2 as arranged.. so i leave maximo, the office, and walk up avenito del sol past the stalls selling icecream, and tours and typical peruvian ponchos and bags.. the street vendors are out with their packaged treats and drinks and there is a tired old man who sits on the steps where i turn with outstretched hands. he enters my mind and exits as quickly.. ahead are more carts with people selling goods, my knapsack is heavy and i wear it on my front.. probably attracting more attention than less.. on my left i pass a wall of newspaper and magazines and several tiny restaurants whose menu boards announce the daily specials... meals cost almost nothing in these places (1,50-3 sols - about a dollar) where i have been told never to eat .. but i will, with care,at some point because it is part of what you have to do if you are here. i pass the landmarks that i remember.. the road in repair, the grocery store, the wide corner before the bridge with streets verging in five directions, flanked by brimming covered carts high with fruit parted right in the midst of it all.. crazy.. i race across the streets , the game i have become used to since cars have the right of way here, and you just wait for a moment in between them to get across.. on streets like this one..i wait to take someones lead just to feel safe.
i cross over the bridge which means i am almost there and bustle along uphill til i get to the gigantic rust doors that speak for themselves. it is my first day.. i am hours early..it is about 11 in the morning...the buzzer is high to the left on the side of the doorframe and i reach to push it.. there is one clean spot worn by other fingers and dirt from hands over the years covers the plaster.
finally a man comes to the door .. and i see him through a small barred window about eight inches square. once inside i go up the steps and through two more giganitic doors where i am set free.. gavin, the army guy from england, is on the early morning shift and walks over to me and tells me to go inside and speak to Janet, the director of the orphanage. i go into her office and face a huge desk with a worn velvet couch for guests. she seems delighted that i am there and tells me they need so much help.. i am assigned a little helper.. jean pierre.. he is a soft spoken boy about thirteen and he is to take me around the place and be my amigo. he is perfect.. just taller than my shoulder, with white teeth between a warm smile. his hair is a bit long and his nature appealing.. i like him.. he has questions in his eyes and searches to understand my english repeating my words and motioning with his hands.
i stay in the main square with him and shortly others gather. there are older boys here ,up to eighteen but none at the moment for they are in school.. only a few boys ages 5 to 12 are here and i wonder why they aren´t in school too. new eyes at this place, i study them.. their faces are clean except for ongoing dripping noses that long for kleenx which doesn´t exist.. their hair is cut and tidy.. their skin is dry and cracked from the sun, some with sun spots and looking ages older than they possibly could be.. their hands are rough and dirty with torn and battered chunks of skin around their nails .. their feet are worse. worn out from birth, calloused and thick, misshapen and dirty.. .. those are the feet i see in sandals that are mostly too small.... made of rubber.. on a brighter side though.. their clothes although old don´t smell of filth, but are just dirty from a day making play out of nothing.. and they are eager to hold hands and sit close to me. there are no toys, and i wonder what they do all day.. just books and that wonderful ping pong table which teases great fun.. ..
some boys gather as i look at the little budgie bird .. i forget his name.. the bird, lives in a cage with a birdhouse inside that the boys have made in their workshop which looks kind of like Dad´s.. but with more lumber and less tools... and the boys poke and prod it tempting it with sticks and fingers.. i am at the far end of the courtyard now, and i pull out some cards for a game, which are quickly absconded...
trying to get a feel of the place i ask about music and learn their is a piano that has been donated and is in the dining room. a little boy runs and gets the keys.. all doors to everywhere off the cement inside walkways are locked except the washroom, changeroom and study.. oh yes, and the carpentry room when the great old carpenter is there... so we have the keys and in we go. the piano is beautiful. it is an upright, pretty sparkling black and it has been covered in two layers of blankets for protection.. no guitar yet i figure i might as well cord.. so i go and sit down and begin to sing, oh i can´t remember right now, but something like old macdonald and the 4 or so kids that have gathered, and speak no english but understand a little stare at me as i bolt out the song with no care about what anybody thinks.. then one of the boys insists that we open the bench that i am sitting on and inside are sheets of music that only aunt jo or bach could play.. .. very funny kids..
i tell them i can´t play them but make the effort of putting it on the piano thinking maybe élvis, one of the boys, can.. no.
now the wheels are turning and i am thinking that the boys need instruments and then we can all have some fun and this could be worthwhile . so this is a thought.
it seems some of the boys have their own ping pong paddles and balls so this is next on the agenda... i use my dictionary as a paddle and it doesn´t help my game. ha. it is good fun though and the cement wall worked in our favor.
on to new things... i wander into the study room. it is turquoise and brown with at least 15 foot high ceilings and a smelly tan rug that reeks of urine. with several boys in tow we head to the bookcase and they eagerly rummage through the books to pull what must be their favorite.. a book on Peru.. anyway we muddle through some of it, piled together in a little heap on the smelly carpet.. there are four boys.. three little ones and one a little older .. it is hard to tell their ages... so story told, i start to sing.. at this point three are sprawled around my legs.. heads tucked on some part of me and i am trying to think of all the songs that we could sing.. i start to sing frere jacques which is a hit and they sing it with me in spanish.. so i copy them and they copy me... they sing another spanish song to me and i listen.. they are confident and comfortable with me and so i start on the repetoire that you kids were raised on.. Lady Bug... the boys now have their eyes closed, one more has joined squeezed onto my legs amid the other heads, and when i stop singing one little one says ¨cantar¨which i take as an encouragement to keep going... ok.. my mind is whipping through songs... Que sera.. well, i start singing this one and my heart falls apart.. i can´t even get through the first line.. and i have tears rolling down my cheeks... and i absolutely cannot sing.. so i say outloud.. ´´ no, i can´t do this one´¨and a little boy gets up and wraps his arms around me as if he can somehow make it better. and he did.
in the middle of the afternoon a whole new bunch of boys, old and young, all uniformed up in worn grey flannels, black leather boots and white shirts with ties, come barrelling into the courtyard. they are not pressed or ironed but have the appearance of tidiness that uniforms portray. crumbly buns in plastic bags are handed out for snacks and are tucked under sweaters for safe keeping... as quickly as they arrive, the big boys disappear except for the little ones who are interested in a few new faces... time for studies and some of them retreat to the tables in the room with the smelly rug.
the end of a day here.. i gather my packsak and the doorman takes his keys and inserts them into the heavy brass lock that allows no one to come or go without permission. stepping over the threshhold i breathe in the air of an as tired street and i raise my hand for a taxi. dusk settles and before i get home i am ready for bed.
it was a glorious day.. in every moment.
it is late on thursday nite now and i am just home from an evening watching local dance with the little boys who left early with Horhay.. the psycologist.. there was a little guy who crawled over to sit with me and held my hand for most of the time.. for this i say thankyou.
so good nite guys. i love you and i miss you including my tugs and kitties. thank you for your wonderful letters and know that i am thinking of you too. tonight is probably the loneliest night . i have been here for two weeks and am wondering how three months will go and what it will bring. sleep well. be happy and breathe in the fall days for me. i miss you. love mom aka me...
hhuuugggsssssssssssssssss and kiisssessssssssssss
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