Because food is always better when shared...

from our IWMs serving in Chimbote, Peru

by: Kelli Nelson
“Gracias a Dios por estos alimentos... Danos energía para ser luz en este mundo… Amen. Desayunamos?” The big hungry eyes on either side of me nodded.  “Okay, then.”  I reached for a piece of bread in the middle of the table and two little arms of my company for breakfast followed.  I held it in my left hand and grabbed my knife with the other to cut it open, they followed.  “Hermana, how are you doing that?” 11 yr. old Jose asked.  “Like this.” I showed.  His brother Jefferson (9) followed with a smile excited to do something he’s never done before.  I then went in for the butter, spreading it thin on both sides of the bread with two sets of curious eyes watching.  When I finished, I set the bread and knife down to find two pieces of bread being handed my direction ready for butter.  “Hermana, please?”  “Sure, do you want a lot or a little… a lot?  Okay.” All three equipped with breakfast, I picked up my bread, they picked up their bread, held it to my mouth, they did the same, and at the same time we took a bite all three looking at each other.  I smiled at them, and they smiled back.
 A regular morning to Centro Amar for English class with Hermana Nancy turned quickly into an intimate moment of sharing food, life, and stories with two young boys from La Balanza, a marginalized neighborhood in Chimbote known for its violence and drug abuse. Jose and Jefferson are in our prevention program for the children of women who have been or are involved in prostitution.  We visit them 2-3 times a week with other children in the same barrio for academic reinforcement and character education. Sister Nancy invited the boys over for lunch at 1pm that day, but they arrived at 9am and couldn’t remember the last time they had eaten.  We set the table, and while Sister Nancy ran some errands, we ate together.

by: Marcelle Keating
I am very thankful for food.  It is a topic I can get a lot of mileage out of in a conversation.  I enjoy cooking, as do most Peruvians.   Peruvians are very proud of their regional dishes and are more than happy to tell you everything that goes into preparing one.  A conversation may start by someone asking what your favorite Peruvian dish is, and from there you may discuss a recipe, where to buy the food in the market or even how to grow it.  It is a wonderful way to share in the culture.   I have gleaned many a new recipe from my Peruvian friends and coworkers and look forward to sharing them with friends and family back home.

Something I noticed early on in my stay here: food is very communal.  If you buy anything as a snack at a local corner store, personal size is not for personal use.  It is considered proper etiquette to offer it to all in your company.  A small personal size soda bottle, Halloween size bag of chips and even an individual serving size of an ice cream bar, all germs aside, is expected to be passed around.  You may only get a taste of your purchase but that is of no great consequence.  Filling your belly is not the objective, sharing is.

The same goes in the work place.  Since I have been working inside hospice, the staff all takes a break mid-morning together. We wait until after the doctor has made the rounds with the patients, then we retreat into the kitchen for a mini-potluck.  Hot tea and sugar, bread, butter, marmalade and sometimes a fried egg is on the menu.  Everyone brings something.  I usually pick up bread for a sol on my way in.  Others may bring the eggs, milk, butter or lunch meat.  All is shared.  It is the essence of what builds relationships.

by: Emily Ruskamp
I never know if I should laugh, be disgusted, or feel accomplished when my economic lessons find their way into my everyday thought processes.  It happens often, not surprising considering the extent to which our community revolves around the exchange of goods.  Three mornings a week I head off walking to Casa LENTCH, an academic and social support program for children who work in the streets of Chimbote.   I have come to enjoy my 20-minute walk as a time to mentally prepare for the chaos of the classroom and soak up the sights, smells, and sounds of the neighborhood. 

One morning a couple blocks before arriving, I encountered two of our boys, brothers, about 13 and 7, buying food at the corner store.  They each bought a small package of crackers and an Inca Kola.  I waited but walked a bit ahead of them, as they walked slowly, probably wanting to finish their breakfast before arriving.  The older of the two opened his crackers and offered me one.  I immediately thought, I can’t eat his breakfast, especially not knowing when he had last eaten.  Still, I smiled, thanked him, accepted the cracker, and took this small act as an opportunity to enter into conversation.  “We came from San Luis,” he said.  I had visited San Luis, a neighborhood on the south side of Nuevo Chimbote, at least a 45-minute trip.  “There probably won’t be many kids here today,” he continued.  “It’s Valentine’s Day-- they’ll all be downtown.”  I hadn’t thought of that, but of course, with so many people out shopping for gifts, they would want to take advantage of the increased business.  I mulled with that as I thought, ah, but you are still here because your utility curves provide that the benefit of studying and eating at LENTCH outweighs the opportunity cost of the money you could be making downtown.  We approached the open gate.  “How good that you are here, though,” I told him, and he nodded.  We entered and casually parted ways. 

As I walked toward my classroom I took note of which students were present, wondering how they decided upon the best way to spend the day, a classic example employed by economics teachers when teaching opportunity cost.  Should a seven-year-old boy spend his summer day doing cartwheels at stoplights for money or learning how to add and playing soccer?  Applied economics in action, but I’m not sure if I should feel accomplished, be disgusted, or cry.