A typical day`s occurrence in the life of an Incarnate Word Missionary serving in Chimbote, Perú.
by: Kelli Nelson
I’ve decided to share some exchanges with the children I’ve come to know and love here in Chimbote. Just like children everywhere, their curiosity and view of the world never fails to entertain, warm and break hearts.
“Hermana, is it cool in the United States?” asked Adrian. “Well, yes, I would say so,” I responded, “but I think it’s pretty cool here too, don’t you think?” He sat for a few seconds thinking, then shrugged his shoulders with an “I guess so, Hermana.”
“Hermana, do you know how to add and subtract?” Otilia asks with a smirk hand on hip. Always my student with an attitude I can count on her little 7 year-old challenge. “Of course I do, I’m teaching you aren’t I?” I asked smiling back at her. “Let’s see, Hermana, two plus three?” “Five,” I say. Wide eyed she smiles and says, “Wow, she knows.”
“I don’t know what it’s called. It’s like a punto and a comma put together,” I said, dictating a paragraph to Jefferson in Spanish not knowing the word for semicolon. He looked at me puzzled and then laughed, “Oh, Hermana, it’s a punto comma.” “Ah, gracias,” I said, “What would I do without you?”
One day, two of the young girls I work with were clearly arguing about something in hushed voices during class when one looked up at me, “Right, Hermana, you’re from the United States? And, you know English?” The other then asks, “Say something in English, Hermana, please. If I finish this whole page of addition problems can you teach me something in English?”
“Why are you so tall, Hermana?” asked Madalein looking up at me.
“Hermana, why do you have so much blonde hair on your arms?” Melanio asks while pulling at my arm hairs in awe at the difference in comparing it with his.
“Hermana, do you have family?”
“Does everyone have money in the United States, Hermana?”
“Hermana, are there poor people there like there are here?”
by: Marcelle Keating
It is no secret; I struggle to communicate in Peru. Knowing that music is THE universal language, I was more than excited to begin teaching flute lessons for a youth orchestra in Chimbote. The youth orchestra is the first and only one of its kind in the city. The program is geared towards children eight to fifteen of all economic levels. The music stands and instruments are all donated as well as the service of about five music professors who come in from the larger metropolitan town of Trujillo which is 2 hours up the road. We meet twice a week for three hours of rehearsal.
The Peruvian culture has such a strong tradition of playing by ear; I have found it to be the main reason the students have learned so rapidly. They only have to hear it once to have it. Their fingers instinctively find the right keys to play the right notes. Teaching them to read music and count has been more of a challenge. I have had to be resourceful in finding a common bridge for the technical aspects of music which has also proven to be somewhat humorous.
As I said, they have learned rapidly. A year ago they were just starting on recorders in the class room and now they are practicing the Blue Danube by Strauss in a full orchestral setting. As the difficulty in music has progressed, I found myself having to explain more of the methodology in counting. Learning this is important because it is what enables you to look at a piece of music and not have to ask, “How does this go?” You already know. Knowledge is power.
Music is the universal language but I was getting some blank stares when I started using American syllables for counting rhythmic patterns. A series of four sixteenth notes in the U.S., might use the syllables “one-ta- te-ta” or “one-E –and- ah” for counting. I still have not found the most satisfactory method here but after asking a few of the Peruvian music professors, I settled on using “ta-ti-ta-ti.” It takes a lot of concentration on my part not to revert to the method I originally learned.
One syllable that did not make the cut was another option the Peruvians gave me for a series of four sixteenth notes, “pa-que-ti-to”, but after counting out a passage of a doted eighth followed by a sixteenth note, I realized I was repeatedly saying “pa-to, pat-to” which is the Spanish word for duck. Another bridge I had to find was for the musical pattern of the triplet. In the States you could use “trip-a-let” or “one-la-li” but I finally settled on “Chim-bo-te.” It worked and it was easy for them to remember. I love music, especially in Peru.
by: Emily Ruskamp
Every morning summer classes began with an Our Father, a Hail Mary, and a teacher’s lecture, the latter of which was usually something about finishing all the food at lunch and not getting up from the table until all the courses were served. One day, the lecture started with the pool, as the kids had been allowed to swim the session before.
“Niños, nobody gets to swim today because somebody had lice and spread it around. You all need to go home and ask your moms to check your heads, and if you have lice you need to wash your hair and ask your mom to de-lice you.” I knew that at least one of the teachers who swam the day before had gotten lice, but imagined pretty much everyone had gotten it. Later that afternoon, requests from some of the older girls to check their heads revealed my suspicion to be true.
“And we don’t say de-flea. Animals have fleas. You aren’t animals, you’re people. We de-lice people.” I happened to glance at the head of Nayeli, the 8-year-old girl sitting on my lap, and noticed that her hair was full of little white nits.
“Another thing: don’t defecate or urinate in the showers. Yesterday the women cleaning discovered that one boy had defecated in the showers. We have bathrooms for defecating and urinating. The showers are for washing only.” I felt a little itch on the back of my head but chose to ignore it. The lecture was becoming more interesting every moment.
“And niños, somebody left their underwear in the shower, and we found it. It was dirty. Niños, you have to change your underwear and clean your intimate parts every day. When you don’t, it starts to smell, and it smells bad. Yeah? You have to change your underwear every day.” I kept a serious expression, not wanting to undermine the teacher and knowing that many of the kids dressed, bathed, and fed themselves, but inside I stifled a little laugh. The teacher continued.
“You have to learn how to clean yourselves. I know your families are poor. We’re all poor here. But that doesn’t mean we have to be dirty. I don’t care if your shirt is full of holes. Don’t be ashamed! If it’s clean, you will look good.” I suddenly felt self-conscious. My thoughts jumped to all the moments when I have judged someone as poor or not poor simply by the way they looked. There are too many to recount.
“Wednesday afternoon the pool will be available again, but we’re going to check your heads first, and the boys or girls who have lice will not be allowed to swim.” I glanced again at Nayeli’s head. I knew a little bit about her family and doubted her mother would have the time or interest to adequately remove all the lice.
“If you do all do your work nice today, Emilia’s going to teach us some English before lunch.” The kids all started chattering and looking at me excitedly, their eyes wide. I snapped back into the moment, smiled, and nodded in agreement.
“But first we’re going to work on communications.” Nayeli hopped off my lap to sit in her own seat for the lesson, though she couldn’t read and usually copied from her neighbors. I made a mental note to write down that morning’s lecture when I got home, not sure what my reaction was but knowing I wanted to remember it.
I heard a yell from the other table. “Hermana! I can’t find my pencil! How do you say pencil in English? Does everybody speak English there? Do you speak fast in English like we do in Castellano? Can you help me with this?” I stationed myself at that table and the morning lesson began.
