Nice to Meet You

Sitting in an internet cafe in Taganga, waiting for a room to free up, waiting to book into another backpacker hostal and meet a new slew of characters and exchange first impressions with two questions: where're you from, where're you going? And just like that, we'll probably be halfway to being friends or not.

Went to a lot of museums in Bogota, saw a lot of works by Fernando Botero. Born 1932 in Medellin. Drew a lot of chubby people. Not just people actually, fruits, trees and horses, Jesus on the cross, guitars, houses, were all drawn chubby. Even drew a chubby Mona Lisa, look it up, it's funny. He's not yet dead but the work of other artists on exhibit who had passed away were accompanied by placards detailing only their name, birthplace and death place. By way of introduction. Like:

Andres de Santa Maria
Bogota, 1860 - Brussels 1945

It tells you a lot really but at the same time leaves out everything between. I'm Reading "A Hundred Years of Solitude" in Spanish and it's slow going but one little quote I remember is where Jose Arcadio Buendia says that it doesn't matter where you were born, one is not from a place until one of yours has died there.

Before I had to answer the question "Where're you from?" 5 times a day, I would hesitate before answering, confusing the question with "Who am I?" I'm not really from Edmonton, I'm not really from Hong Kong, I'm not really from Ontario, these are just places I've lived. Now for simplicity's sake, when other backpackers ask, I don't delve into a detailed personal life history, my response is the same as a museum placard would say:

Liang Cheng
Edmonton, 1985 -

Moving On

After spending 3 weeks in rural Ecuador, coming back to the city feels good and I don't know why. The cars, the horns, the people hurrying around, the teenagers expressing themselves through their clothes, the graffiti, the traffic lights, it's all so familiar. This time it's Quito but all these big cities feel like big cities. Busy, busy people. Saw an old man on the street today, peddling a backscratcher and a toe-nail clipper. His hand was propped up by his walking stick and the toe-nail clipper hung off his finger while the backscratcher stick was propped up, demonstrating these things were for sale. So he sat there half asleep mumbling to himself while offering his two goods for sale. One time he woke up, re-adjusted the scratcher stick so it palm was facing pedestrian traffic, then went back to sleep. I stood there for a while just watching him and giggling to myself but not wanting people to see that I was giggling at him. During that time, the only person that gave a second glance was a 8 or 9 year old boy who stopped dead in his tracks, let go of his mother's hand, went up close to inspect first the goods and then the sleeping man, and then ran back to his mom who had kept walking. I smiled to myself remembering how Kimberley says "Oye" and when little Alex asked my why I was a 'small gringo.' I really miss the kids, I don't know if it's because I'm a big softie or because I'm back in this big, much colder, adult world. I got a million hugs every day for the past three weeks and today, I'll be lucky to get one.

All Smiles, Snotty Noses and Eager Eyes

Well I've only made it to Ecuador so far. I'm at the Katitawa School in Salasaca (katitawa.blogspot.com).

The day starts at 7 am, cold with porridge already cooking and feet creaking on wooden floors. Quick cup of tea to warm up and a dusty half hour walk uphill to school, passing cactus lined fields, fast flowing irrigation ditches, chickens, pigs, cows and the locals carrying wide loads on their backs. We teacher-volunteers arrive at the school just after 8 am, the dusty volcanic soil undisturbed for just a few more seconds until the orange van of kids arrive and off we go. Noise and activity, dust flies, as balls and children are to be chased, hundreds of piggybacks given and questions questions questions questions.

We're in the Valley of Volcanoes, at the equator and 3000 meters up, and the weather leads by example, changing temperament quickly, trending towards a burning hot afternoon but unpredictable. The kids follow suit wearing their emotions on their sleeves, one second steadfast refusal to cooperate, the next all smiles, snotty noses and eager eyes looking up at you, wanting to please and wanting to have their way. They've got a lot of love to give, and when they look to me for an authoritative answer, the last thing I want to do is disappoint.


The past weeks have been equally exhausting as rewarding. Constantly trying to be a living example, and trying to be fair and trying to be friendly and also trying to be respected are mentally draining activities. I find myself trying new things everyday, testing out the kids, trying to push the right combination of buttons. To be a friend and to be respected at the same time. I've learned a few things. Everyone wants to win. If you want to be believed, always do what you say. Kids know an empty promise when they hear one, consequence or reward. Kids can be manipulative. Kids get away with a lot. Kids act different when they think no one is watching. Kids learn by example. Kids will do what you let them do.

Eventually the children are trucked away and after cleaning up and closing up, we walk back home in the hot sun, all a little tired. I find myself feeling either satisfied or dejected. I want so badly to make a difference in their lives and the days when I feel like the kids learned something make up for the days I feel like I'm not getting through to them.

I spend the afternoon winding down on the back patio with the guitar I bought, watching a fierce wind push trees and clouds west, toward the fading light. If lucky, the clouds part and snow capped Volcan Chimborazo takes on hints of the orange pink of the setting sun.
We eat dinner, have a few beers, play some cards as the day simmers to an end. The wind dies right down to a stand still and the lights in the valley come out, shimmering and mimicking the constellations. A distant chorus of cows, dogs and donkeys carries across the valley as night fully blankets the valley. Tranquilo. Taking a deep breath of cold mountain air, I imagine even the most boisterous of the kids, the ones that go from class to class running wild, the ones who are always either crying or laughing and nothing in between, even they must be snuggled up in bed, letting sleep creep over them.



I've settled into the routine and loved my time here but I'm on my way out. I'm ready to move on, act on my own accord without thinking about what's best for the kids and how best to teach them. The experience has been unforgettable but I'm leaving unfulfilled. I still want to do more. I will probably come back to teaching again, here or somewhere else but for now, it's quite enough. Done with lesson plans, back to travel plans. Off to Colombia and I've booked my flight from Bogota to Lima on June 10th. Then home.

20 Minutes

Still a little wheezy from the Semana Santa (Easter) party in Ayacucho, a fitting end to my time in Peru, well worth the hungover bus ride. Too much fun for a good 18 hours running from bulls with hysterical crowds, live fireworks singeing t-shirts while dancing around raging bonfires in the town square to live marching bands that didn't stop. All to celebrate Jesus' re-birth. Lack of laws and safety regulations make for good parties. No one got hurt, plus it's tradition and culture.

Took the lloooonnng bus ride last night from Lima to Tumbes. Popped in to the ex-office to say hi but everyone was out which is too bad because that was probably the last chance I'll ever get to see them. But then again, who knows. Still in a familiar place for about 20 minutes until I board the bus from Tumbes across the border to Guayaquil. Leaving my adopted South American nation but I know I'll be back. The plan is a week in Ecuador, 3 weeks in Colombia, a month in Brazil. Come meet me. Contemplating trying to squeeze in a peak of Chavez and the regime in Venezuela and I still might but planning that far ahead crossed my eyes from looking at maps and made my head spin. Going to take it one week at a time. Peace out, Peru. It's been a blasty blast. Wait, didn't I already say that.

What's Update

4th last day at MEDA Peru today. It's been 7 months on this continent, which seems like a while but everything is relative. Sat in a meeting today with the two bosses and a retiree, Phil, who used to work for the World Bank. I mean I've learned a lot in my time here and I've written a lot about it but I've still got only 7 months experience while Phil has been working this field and this continent for twice as long as I've been born. So I sit through an entire days meeting, all keen and awake, ready to give my two cents at a moments notice but ultimately can't contribute a single thing. Nary a peep. I just contribute lots of nodding. It is a good way to convey interest and understanding without interrupting.

For example: What are goals worth pursuing? What seems like it should work but doesn't? How do you get attention? How do you persuade communities? How do you communicate to donors? How can you be sure what you're doing is right? Has this ever been done? What happened in Colombia? What happened in Bolivia? I don't know. I'd just nod and pretend they're rhetorical questions.

Wednesday is last day. Easter holiday after that will be spent in Peru and then my visa expires and I gotta be out by the 19th of April. I'm taking a bit of a detour on my way back to Canada. Two and a half months to grow my hair, somewhere in South America (Colombia or Brazil). Excited yes. Call me Al. The main drawback is that I'm going to miss the hockey playoffs. At least the Oilers aren't making it.


Peace out, mangroves. It's been a blasty-blast.

Restore the Glory

Ancient civilizations on the desert coast poke their noses out from the sand, curiously take a sniff. The salt sprayed air smells different, with wisps of singed petroleum. Their ears buried in the ground fill with a humming noise.

"?" they ask.

Excited archaeologists move sand, step carefully and carve out shapes of what they think the past civilization should look like. Here, a dented collarbone close to a shattered claypot is never a coincidence. Here, this handful of sand is meaningful, soaked in chemical analysis and checked three times. You have to read between the lines.


They say this one is 1000 years old. I can't remember that far back. That's much older than my grandpa. They call it the civilization Moche, since no better name caught on first.


They're still trying to decide what to call this one (Norte Chico or Caral or Caral-Supe). And these ones, they're 4500 years old. I wouldn't be able to tell. Egyptians put up pyramids around then. Who did this? Picture what an imaginary name on an imaginary face did. Two thousand grandpas.

One guide is grateful that the Spanish conquered South America and not the English because the English slaughtered whereas the Spanish integrated. For the other guide, the Spanish conquest was the beginning of the end, a loss of respect for everything and the consequent downhill slide. Restore the glory!

Numbers and worn down buildings and bones is all we have to go off to find a cosy interpretation. A vanished culture always feels like a tragedy. After all, who's not happy to be here.

The Good News is Part 1

I find it hard not to worry about the world. Our civilization is under threat and I feel like I should warn everyone because no one knows but I have to be careful not to talk too much about it because the truth is, most people don't want to hear it. No one likes a self-righteous party pooper dispensing advice from an imaginary high horse. And I don't want to beat a dead horse. And no one wants a guilt trip (on a horse?). Plus, I don't want to lead a horse to the river if I can't change horses midstream. Someone hold my horses, this is getting ridiculous. Never look a gift horse in the mouth...because gift horses have ugly mouths I think. Okay, I'll stop.

But my family is contractually obliged to listen to me so even in the historical marvel that is Cusco, I sent my sister a downer of a postcard lamenting that I didn't know what to do when children workers come up to me in the streets selling their candies. Should I give them something and support their parents in promoting child labour or should I refuse to give my spare change to child in need?

Here's another. There's a poor little boy that I sometimes see walking near my office who looks nothing like any of the happy children in this picture, least of all the kid on the far left. He's a shoeshiner, small, poor and dirty and can't be more than 8 years old (though sometimes you can't tell because malnutrition hinders their development). His presence contrasts starkly with the backdrop of my office, proud bright streets, swept, scrubbed and manicured, every tree and shrub attended to (daily, since Lima is desert afterall). Holding his brush and with a shoeshiner's stool slung over his shoulder, he drags his heels passing upscale cafe's and clothing stores, evading eye contact, not looking scared amongst these rich and powerful businessmen but bored rather. His swagger belied a tired mix of nonchalance and weariness, as if he's had enough of the un-stimulating existence he lives and the reality of this world. So young yet already so jaded.

I've seen a lot of child workers in Peru and Bolivia but this boy's attitude got to me. Other kids resort to different tactics to make a penny or two. Who can blame any of them for what they do? They should be in school, playing and learning. Instead, some rush around offering candy, some just look up at you with the cutest bambi eyes, some sing a song, some whine persistently. This boy however, behaved as if he'd been living this life way too long already. As if he didn't even care if he made an extra cent or two because he knew it would make no difference to his existence. Truth be told, he's absolutely right.

For the moment, this dirty boy is currently small and harmless enough to be disregarded in this affluent, closely-guarded neighbourhood. But as he becomes a young man he will begin to constitute a threat in the eyes of this community, intimidating merely with his presence rich ladies who will react by clutching their handbags tighter (I've seen that happen, and who knows? Perhaps with good reason). Without even a basic education, learning to read or multiply, this kid is locked onto a path towards certain poverty. In a world of laptops and internet, baby Beethoven tapes and a million stimulation tools for every stage of infancy, this boy and countless others have been left behind, failed by this world. Him and 72 million others.

****

I'm reading a book published by the Earth Policy Institute called Plan B 3.0 - Mobilizing to Save Civilization. It's available for free download here or here. The title sounds alarmist but the truth is, the facts are alarming. The book talks pragmatically about the four main problems threatening civilization, a tightly interwoven net of poverty, overpopulation, climate change and destruction of the Earth's ecosystem. Those are four monumental problems but true to the title, it's a plan to overcome these problems. It's straightforward, rather genius and worth at least a glance if you plan on living in this world.

Basic education is common sense. It gives people a way out of poverty, improves health and agricultural productivity and lowers fertility. In an overpopulated world, everyone benefits from educated mothers having fewer but healthier babies.

The fact that 72 million children worldwide are unable to attend school is both a symptom and a cause of poverty and overpopulation. Without learning to read or to count, the chasm between the rich and the poor will only widen. Like the little boy left to shine shoes, the undecated will be left behind, locked in a frustrating cycle of povery with no way out while watching the first world flourish. This is a dangerous combination, and as Amartya Sen is quoted in the book, "illiteracy and innumeracy are a greater threat to humanity than terrorism."

***

The good news is that as a world, we have made astounding progress. I think poverty has been the norm for most people for most of the duration of human history. Only recently have we secured access to clean water, education and food for a majority of the population.

China has done incredibly lifting people out of poverty (430 million people!! in two decades between 1981 and 2001) and has increased literacy in a growing population (from 65% in 1982 to 93.3.% in 2008). A country with an educated population advances quickly, on its own two feet and encourages democracy. Whenever I see kids in school, it gives me hope, no matter how rudimentary the classroom. Knowing the human spirit and being backed by a growing superpower, these kids will bring progress to the world, no matter how hard their lives. The state of the world's environment is going to depend largely on how China continues to develop and the decisions they make right now and in the future. Education can only help them to make the right decisions.

Peru as well has grown immensely in the past decade, currently equaling or possibly surpassing China's growth in GDP. This country is similarly developing and booming, making strides on many fronts while dealing with its own economic and political turmoils (in 1992, two carbombs planned by 'The Shining Path' terrorists brought down a building just two streets from where I live in the richest neighbourhood in Lima). Literacy rates in Peru have gone from 82% in 1981 to 90.5% in 2007.

Eliminating poverty worldwide is one of those things vague things like world peace that everyone wishes for. They seem like far-fetched pipedreams, unattainable goals. It's an answer to a question in a beauty pageant. I mean eliminate poverty?? All my life, all I've heard about is people starving in Africa. But eliminating poverty and world peace are closely related and regarding the former, it is becoming a real possibility. It's exciting and progress is being made everywhere....