Ugly reality and those who live it

Yesterday I met two British women, one of which was in Peru traveling, and the other visiting family. The former sat down next to me in a panicked hurry, trying to escape from a small, old Peruvian man who was following her. The man saw her sit down, pretended to look at the cakes, and - thankfully - he then promptly made his exit. She and I then got to talking, and two minutes quickly turned to two hours. Her friend met up with us later and they were both quite curious about my work in Peru, asking me question after question...

[Some background: I have worked in an emergency call center, in humanitarian assistance, in police dispatching (911 call operator), and I've been here working at the prison for about six weeks. I am no stranger to tragic stories of injustice, violence, or poverty. Before I came down here, some expressed concern for my emotional health were I to work in a prison with devastatingly poor and downtrodden women, but I was not and am not really concerned about being affected by this. I've found that with time and a thick stomach, these things cease to internalize so much and - for better or for worse - each becomes "just another story".]

Anyhow, at some point the conversation turns to why the women are in the prison, who they are, how they behave, etc. I reply that they are mostly in for drug trafficking, and I follow with several stories:

"One woman is in because a stranger broke into her house and raped her, and she stabbed him - resulting in his death. Of course now she is in for murder, and has no representation, no money, and does not even speak Spanish. She speaks only Quechua, and no one foresees her getting justice.

Another lived in the jungle, and believed she was being paid to make flour - though she was actually processing cocaine. And presumably being paid the price for flour. Who knows how long she'll be there.

One had separated from her husband, who was still driving her vehicle. He got pulled over with drugs in the car, and since it was registered in her name - she got nailed. It's her second time there, after the first time she had vowed never to get involved with the smuggling of drugs again. Now she is paying for her husband's mistake, and will be for ten more years.

 There are dozens of stories like these, each more awful than the next.  Clearly the problem is that Peru is treating cancer with band-aids - these extremely poor people, often with little or no exposure to anything outside their small village - are desperate and agree to smuggle drugs for very little pay, often getting caught their first time doing it, and always taking the fall for the real criminals. Not to excuse what the women are doing entirely, these are still crimes of course, but this is certainly not the ideal punishment for them. And maintaining these overcrowded prisons full of the very poor who are frequently unable to advocate for themselves is an extremely expensive way to ineffectively fight drug cartels."

I get off my soapbox and look around, and both of my new British friends are crying listening to my story! And I think to myself: "Is it normal to not be upset by this?" You see, as much nastiness as I've seen, I have never told a story and gotten that reaction. I later called my cousin who works for Child Welfare Services, a similar line of work in many ways. We collectively figured out that through years of working with them, we had so distanced ourselves from our "clients" that we had become part of a cadre of people over-exposed and largely numb to tragedy. Sometimes it takes someone else looking at you in horror for you to realize the reality you live in, I guess.

We decided to look at it optimistically - numbing yourself is a coping mechanism that allows you to do your job effectively, objectively and professionally without getting too personally involved. However, there is quite a fine balance between showing too much compassion and being heartless, and that's what I, Robin, and all people in our shoes struggle with every day. We, and those who surround us, just have to remember that ultimately we are doing this in order to make good change happen - and we need all the support we can get.

As promised, a substantive post

As I was walking back from a three-course, $2 dinner, I noticed - as I have many times in this city - that the streets were clean and there were no beggars, no homeless people, mostly just people bustling around and greeting each other. The town I live in, in Peru, is quite small and people really do seem to all know each other. In any case, what I find interesting is the begging situation. How is it that in one of Peru's poorest regions, on a typical weekday walking through the streets, I don't have anyone ask me for money? It does happen on occasion, but it's the exception, not the rule. I am an incredibly obvious "gringa" (foreigner) as a 6'1" female with dirty-blonde hair amongst an ocean of 5'0" Peruvians, which usually leads me to be targeted by every type of vendor, beggar, and vagabond I cross paths with. But not here.

Since that struck me as very strange, I mentioned it in passing to my landlord. He said that, and I don't know how this began to be arranged in the first place, people here only beg on Saturdays! The citizens all know this, and in preparation bring extra bread to their bakeries and coins in their pockets to provide to the extremely elderly or disabled people who are the only ones that do not work in these parts. More incredible still is that people work here until they literally cannot do so anymore. I have seen 70-year-old women carrying huge sacks of [insert staple carbohydrate here] all over the city, uphill in 9,000 foot altitude like it was nothing. And in Cuzco I saw porters carrying 150 pound bags on their backs up tremendous mountains [14,000 feet] that I could hardly handle as a healthy 25-year-old carrying no extra weight at all. All this while they were wearing flip flops and sporting any number of toe fungi on their sparsely covered feet.

My point in relaying all this is that many of the people I observe here have an incredible, admirable will to survive. I assume most of them have never been handed anything easily in their whole lives. You'll seldom hear that the government isn't providing them enough or that their parents are to blame ... they just grin and bear their crosses. They make it happen for themselves, and I think Americans have a lot to learn from that attitude (and I'm no exception). There also seems to be quite a sense of camaraderie here, at least in the wider community sense. Though there are massive problems at the household level in terms of domestic violence, but that's another tale for another day.

For now, I welcome your comments. I'm off to prepare for tomorrow - we'll be pleading with the local university to allow its psychology, social work, and childhood education students to volunteer their time at the prison where I volunteer. Wish us luck!

Besos,

Jamie

Life in Prison i.e. Why did I start this blog?

Hi Readers,

I've never been terribly keen on taking part in the digital 'revolution' that my generation is undergoing. I waited years to start a facebook account (granted, I now use this several times a day), a gmail account, and I'm still not on board with twitter. However, as I have recently started updating the blog for the organization I'm volunteering with, I have had my eyes opened to the value of sharing thoughts and experiences with one's peers - in both a professional and personal sense.

I believe we can (and should) learn from each others' opinions and experiences. If there is anything that nearly 20 years of formal education has taught me, it's that there is always someone who knows more than me. Therefore I will be leaving this blog open to comments, though I ask that those of you who wish to comment remain level-headed in agreeing or disagreeing with myself or others who might comment. I don't want this to turn ugly.

In terms of content - I intend to write both about my personal life, my periodic [hopefully interesting] experiences, and often how that all ties in to my professional life - mostly involving the study of poverty, policies (foreign and domestic), and reality on-the-ground. Right now my professional life happens to be taking place inside a prison in a small town in Peru, where I've been working with women and children to help lead them to better futures. I hope my experiences shared through this blog will enrich someone's life, make someone think twice, or at the very least provide some mild entertainment.

So, when I get back from the lovely Peruvian meal I'm about to enjoy, I will write some actual content.

Besos!