Mi Familia Peruano (Week 2)

"En Ingles esto es bounce," I said. "En espanol esto es...?" "Poleta!" she replied. Clearly the slow action of me bouncing the ball didn't make sense, because 'poleta' means ball, not bounce. No matter! 

I was tired and wanted to rest, but Sesia had brought me a pink ball with a painted giraffe. She wanted to play.

Sesia is the daughter of one of the local missionary families here at the compound where we stay. It took me a while to understand that her name has no 'r' and is spelled 'Sesia' not 'Cercia.' She is four, and she is full of life. 

I try not to turn down playing ball with the kids because it's an easy way to bond through the language barrier. Sesia gets frustrated when I can't understand what she's saying. She seems to speak clearly, but her words tumble out at a great speed. I can't keep up. She loves giving hugs, but is also quite vocal about her frustration when I can't keep up with her sentences, energy, and personality. 

Her face lit up as I threw her the ball. When I dropped it and had to chase after it, she giggled with glee. This continued for a while before her brother Joel came to join. They both belly laughed when the ball landed in my arms but bounced several times from hand to hand before I fully caught it. 

Soon, the sibling rivalry began to show, and Sesia was clearly miffed with Joel. "We should play Monkey in the Middle," I said in English, hoping a change of games might help. They both gave me a quizzical look and Sesia said, "Mono?" Suddenly understanding, Joel piped up, "Ohhh! Mono en el medio. Si!" Joel is taking English in primary school and often surprises me with very clear English.

When we had exhausted the game of Monkey in the Middle, I went back to my room. Moments later Sesia was back. I asked if she wanted to look at some pictures. "Fotos de tus amigos? Si!" she exclaimed excitedly. I lifted the pictures out of their paper cover. I haven't managed to get them on the wall yet. As I pointed to the people in the pictures I said their names. "Mi menor hermano. Jalen. Mi tio. Isaac." She was clearly unimpressed with my dog. You win some, and you lose some.

"Libby. Tobi. Shania."

She was oddly annoyed at the fact that I was in most all of the pictures. Every time she would point my way she would throw herself saucily back on my bed and groan.

"Emily. Nicole. Aggie."

As I said each name she would repeat them back to me.

"Yvanna."
"Ybanna?"
"Yvanna."
"Yyyybanna."
"Si. Muy bien." I would reach up to give her a high five.
"Nicholas."
"Nee-co-las?"
"Si! Muy bien." Another high five.

Tobi, Yvanna, and Aggie were unmistakably her favorites.

When we got to the picture of Logan Pass in Glacier National Park she gasped, "Wohhh! Muy grande. Montañas?" She was impressed, but quickly ready to move on.

"Christopher."
"Creestofur?"
"Si. Bien." 

After she had fully mastered each person's name, she decided it was important to make sure I knew who I was talking about.

*Sesia pointed*
Me: Tobi.
Sesia: Si! Muy bien. *Pried my hand open for a high five.*
*Sesia pointed*
Me: Libby.
Sesia: Si! Bien. *high five*

Sesia, 4 years

I'm settling into life down here well. I'm pretty sure I'll never get used to the humidity or the heat rash that is currently smothering my torso, but cold showers are growing on me. NOTHING teaches you to look forward to a cold shower more than a day in the dust and humidity of Pucallpa.

Currently, my two favorite things about life in Peru are rides in the motofurgon and dinners in the local families' homes.

A motofurgon is like a truck version of a motocarro. A motocarro is a carriage built on the back of a motorcycle. We ride most often in the motofurgon because it has the capacity to transport more supplies and more people. Time spent riding down the road is the only time every day that I don't feel nearly suffocated by the humidity...heat too, I guess, although that wouldn't be so hard if it were more dry. This Montana girl simply isn't used to the heaviness of moisture in the air.

I'm starting to get a pretty good sense of my location in the midst of my surroundings. Pucallpa is alive with different aromas, most of them good, but each tinged with a bit of dust. Every few yards the smells change... pineapples, dust, rice, dust, potatoes, trash, dust, pancakes, fish, motocarro fumes, dust, bad water, dust. I haven't smelled much death, though. That surprised me because the smell of death was everywhere in Novo Airo, Brazil. I wonder why? The quality of life is worse here.

The food here is seriously SO good. Laura and Llingli make sure that we are well fed and well loved. During lunch one day last week, Laura was playing music we could understand. I caught a glimpse of her phone and saw that she had specifically looked up, "Hymns in English." In those little moments, the love helps the homesickness settle a little.

Dinner time has unofficially turned into language lesson time, and it is so much fun. The other day, Laura and Henry asked about English slang as we ate rice and "pizza" (egg bake with veggies). They wanted to know what terms Americans use to describe attractive people. The whole table erupted with laughter when they discovered that "hot" was similar to "calor" or "caliente."

Here, they understand the word "stupid" as a great insult, but "dumb" can be used as good natured teasing. We've had to be mindful of that since it is often the opposite back home.

Much fun was had at my expense when I got the words "hambre" and "hombre" mixed up. I meant to say "I have hunger" but instead declared "I have a man." I won't be living that one down for a long time to come.

The rest of the thoughts in my pocket will have to wait. We are off to wash our laundry by hand. We have a washer here, but quickly discovered it might be more effective to try our skill at hand washing. We'll see how this goes.