Summertime

Kelli Nelson, IWM:

“Blessed are you summer,

You call us into playfulness,

Encouraging us to pause from work,

You renew our spirits.” (Joyce Rupp)

Summertime in Chimbote, for me, has indeed been a time of renewal and good energy.  People going about their ways seemingly a little less stressed with anticipation for a relaxing day at the beach, a refreshing ice cream or frozen fruit treat.  A time of field trips and vacation from school or work for many, it is also a time of playfulness.

Last Friday, the sisters I work with, some volunteers and I went on a field trip.  We’ve just encountered a pretty big budget cut as an organization and stress has been high planning projects, etc., thus we thought a nice little outing would do us some spiritual good.  Also, we had just finished summer classes with the children in our prevention program and decided that this was the perfect time to celebrate!

We went to Casma, a beautiful earth-sauna of a city that sits nestled in by a collection of sandy hills just an hour south of Chimbote.  We went, and we played like children should.

First, we visited the ruins and museum of Sechìn, remains of a temple and people from around 1800 B.C.  We hiked above and around to see it from all angles, faces expressing all emotion etched in stone, a building of great symmetry and order with matching pillars hugging the entrance.  We took our time, climbed, sat, climbed, sat, shared memories as we walked in and out of the structure.

They call Casma the City of the Sun because the sun reflects so strongly off of the surrounding dunes giving its full attention to Casma and its people.  Seeking a moment of refuge from its intensity we later rested at Rita’s house (one of our volunteers) where a fig tree treated us to some shade and fun tantalizing our appetites with its sweet fruit aroma.  I climbed the tree to fetch the unreachable figs while Sister Socorro held her sun hat open below to catch what I tossed back down sharing with the others our findings.  The image of my sisters lying down in the shade from my view up in the tree remains engrained in my thoughts of that day in Casma.  Carefree, breathing fresh air, simply enjoying the presence of one another…

Our day continued with some lunch and a celebration of each other before heading back to Chimbote.  I can really attest to the renewal that is summer air and taking the time to pause and play.

Emily Ruskamp, IWM:

Summertime in the parish means lots of activities to celebrate vacation from school.  This year, the youth movement planned a 5-week summer school for kids in our area.  We offered workshops ranching from theater and dance to math and English.  Working with kids always brings a few challenges, especially for those of us who aren’t used to handling groups of kids, and sometimes we ask ourselves if all the work is really worth it.

In our celebratory meeting with the youth volunteers after the closure of the summer school, I asked them to recall and share a moment when they really felt God’s presence in their work, a moment when they could say, “Yes, what we’re doing is good.”  One volunteer, a man who taught dance classes, raised his hand quickly.  “I remember one morning in the last week,” he began, “when I was there waiting with two or three of the girls.  They asked if we were going to start, and I said no, we were going to wait a little while for the others to arrive.  And they said, ‘No, no, we want to start learning!’”  In that moment, he said, he realized that they weren’t just doing what they were told.  On the contrary, they were really enjoying what they did, and they had acquired a thirst for learning.

Perhaps it’s a small step, but it’s a first step toward empowerment, toward integral human development, toward allowing each individual to discover and explore his or her talents.  And that, for me, is a success.

Katie Langley, IWM:

Summertime in Peru means lots of slushies, popsicles, and ice cream. It means water balloons randomly being dropped on you while walking down the street and hearing little kids wailing with laughter. It means beautiful flowers blooming and the sun shining bright. It also means it is February, while everyone else in my life is snuggling inside with the heat on while it snows back in the States.

                It is a crazy feeling to be experiencing something so different than home. Now not only is just the distance separating us, but the drastic difference in weather as well. When I talk to my friend about laying on my bed with a fan pointed at me full-blast, he replies to tell me about going sledding last weekend. It is a strange feeling for me. I feel even further from home than before. Some homesickness has definitely set in as a result of this change.

                While I am feeling a little bummed about not sharing hot chocolate back home with my friends, I am also feeling more blessed every day for the experience I am having here. Yes, it is hot and no air conditioning is something I cannot say I am completely used to yet, but it is beautiful. Neighbors outside playing with their kids in the street, outdoor music festivals, artisan fairs downtown by the ocean, and going to be beach on the weekends. Getting to share a cool drink with the family of my patients after our Hospice visit and before we move on to the next house. Not to mention all of the delicious Peruvian summer snacks. Of course I am feeling sad to be so far from home, but I am excited for each new, bright summer day!!!!

Kyle Seymour, IWM:

It’s summer and it’s hot.

“Yeah, but is it Texas hot?”

…well, yes and no.

The sun here feels exactly how it looks: like a giant white ball of fire. It radiates a type of heat I can only compare to a stoking campfire or a cast iron skillet on the stove, or maybe the exhaust from revving diesel truck muffler. I don’t know if it’s because we’re closer to the equator or because of green house gases, but the sun is different here. 

All I know is that this Peruvian summer is brutal. What used to be a simple stroll downtown to mail a letter has turned into an every-man-for-himself battle for the shady side of the sidewalk.

In south Texas, the humidity is what kills you. During June you can pretty much count on those bologna shaped sweat stains under your armpits from the time the sun comes up until well after 9. Here though, the temperature isn’t that high…unless, that is, you’re standing directly under the nuke-ball, as I like to call it.

So, just avoid direct sunlight at all costs, right?

Right. Easily dealt with. 

But here’s the real catch.

No A/C.

            Not in the house, not in the bank, not in the clinic.

Restaurants? Nope.  

You’d think maybe in the church?

Think again. 

…so that’s why mass is only at 7:30am and 7:30pm.

A/C just doesn’t really exist here. Once the day heats up, there's no escape. 

Although, I do now know that the Claro store, a big mobile phone provider, is air-conditioned. But once they realized I wasn’t there on business I was politely kicked to the curb where all the other throw-outs pressed their bodies against the window panes.

Hey, it was cool while it lasted.

I think now about how I used to complain about hot Texas summers—when I went from my air-conditioned house to my air-conditioned truck to run air-conditioned errands before going to air-conditioned work. I even used to jog around the track in an air-conditioned gym which would sound like a make-believe story to my Peruvian friends.

“Yeah, the air in the whole building is kind of like inside the refrigerator. Then…I’d run around a circle until I got hot and sweaty.”

My life in the U.S. wasn’t exactly cushy, but I have to say, I had it pretty good. Hot shower, air-conditioning and a glass of water that doesn’t taste like a mouth full of pennies. Now that was the good life.

What’s even more thought provoking is that six moths ago I was living in veritable luxury compared to now, but now, compared to others, I still am.

I have the oscillating fan cranked up to 3/3 as I’m laying on my bed in a room I don’t have to share with seven members of my extended family, as I type on my laptop wearing clean clothes after having taken a shower in running water before going downstairs to have some dinner.

            I work with people every day that aren’t afforded a single one of the luxuries I’m enjoying right now.

The past six months have shown me what it means to live in solidarity with the economically poor and marginalized, and how powerful and life changing that is. At the same time though, I still have a lot more than the majority of people alive on earth today. If anything, I’ve only seen how large the gap is between the poor and, frankly, everybody else.

That thought is what makes the heat bearable. That is what makes all of this worth doing.