My Peruvian family and home...part 1

It occurs to me that I haven’t really written at all about the people that are filling my life while I’m here in Lima—my Peruvian family. I know that a lot of people were worried about my not having solid plans before I came, but this situation is a perfect manifestation that supports my decision to not plan.

The story really begins August 15th, the day before I left to Peru. Peter and Ron threw a going away soiree at Ron’s house in Portland (it was a good going away party, both for Ron and me since Ron was headed out to Bali the same day I left for Peru). Ron, inspired person that he was, told me that Gary and Jose were coming and that I needed to talk to Jose since he’s from Peru and could have some good information for me. Great idea! (And I don’t know why, but that scared Tina voice in the back of my head had that hesitancy to new things, as usual, and I was a little frightened to talk to someone actually from Peru. That doesn’t make sense at all, does it? I mean, what could be more logical than talking to someone from Peru before I actually go to Peru? I know it doesn’t make sense, but the voice is there, all the same. This voice doesn’t serve a single positive purpose and will never help me to grow and be the person I want to be and every time I move past that voice, I find that there’s really nothing to be afraid of. I always know what the best thing is to do. So I made sure to shut that stupid voice up real quick and talked to Jose. The first thing he said is that he had just talked to his family (the family that would eventually become my own) and there had just been a huge earthquake in Peru. Um…wow. The timing of this was so crazy! So we talked about that for a bit, then we started talking more about my trip, where I was going, what I would be doing, etc. He asked where I was staying, and I told him I was staying in Lima, in the Miraflores area. “My family lives in Miraflores!” he said. Wow, crazy! I had already made hostel reservations for the first week, so we got online so I could show him where I’d be staying. “That’s right near my house!” So true. His family lived (lives) four blocks away from my hostel! Then he told me that I should stay with his family while I was in Lima, and that I should email his sister Vanessa and meet up with her when I arrived. Normally, scared Tina would stay in her bubble and take the address and tuck it away, and think about using the email address, then never use it. But in an effort to not be stupid and to grow up out of this stupid scared voice, I sat down with Jose and emailed her right then and there. Before the end of the night, I had already received a reply from her with her cell phone number telling me to call her when I arrived in Lima. Yay! Another seemingly scary prospect and another little obstacle to overcome! (While we’re beginning this topic of “scared Tina voice in the back of her head” let me just explain to you the extent that it goes. When I was working at the office, I always preferred to email people because it’s easier. For some reason, making phone calls directly to people I don’t know frightens me. I’ve had this fear since I was 4 or 5 years old and made my first phone call ever to a friend’s house. I can still remember my mom telling me exactly what to say. “First say ‘Hello, this is Tina Ferguson. May I please speak with…’” So prim, so proper. Oh mom, there’s the secretary in you—or maybe it’s the detail-orientedness. I think I might do the same thing if I had a daughter, dictate to her what to say on the phone…Anyway, for some reason this frightened me, talking to someone I didn’t know on the phone, and having to memorize this dialogue, and this has carried on through my entire life. I hate looking up phone numbers in the yellow pages and calling to ask for information. I so prefer to look it up on the internet. Even as an executive assistant, I always preferred emailing to calling because of that stupid fear of the telephone. Maybe it’s a terrible form of shyness that I don’t usually identify with that word. It doesn’t make sense, and I know better, but that fear is still always there…It’s one I will conquer while I’m here. I know this because I can’t always make hostel reservations online. Relatively little of South America exists online, and I’m going to have to get used to using that telephone. So there you have a small excerpt of the strange workings of my mind and a taste of that voice inside my head that often tries to hold me back. It doesn’t make sense, it doesn’t make sense, but there it is.)

ANYWAY, now back to my story. I thought that (aside from scared Tina voice) I really did want to meet his sister. But the idea of living with his family, well, I decided to leave that one neither here nor there and to not have expectations either way. If so, that would be great! If not, some other great learning experience would be in store for me. So began my journey to Jose’s family. I had to fight scared Tina voice again to actually call Vanessa (I have to figure out how to use the phone in Lima! Stupid, and yet to scared Tina, frightening!). She ended up coming over to pick me up from the hostel, and we walked down to this local outdoor shopping mall on the cliff that overlooks the ocean. We talked, mostly in English, about work, about our brothers, about language classes...then about boys. And we related to each other over stupid boys that had broken our hearts, and I knew we were supposed to be friends. : ) We went out a few more times…and eventually I moved in with the family.



Most of the time, I feel like I’m living an ordinary, daily life here in Lima. But in reality, my life here is quite different. I have lived by myself for the last four years, so moving in with a family is a big change. Here in Peru, children stay living with their parents until they get married (and sometimes, I am told, for a while thereafter). My own personal Peruvian family consists of Mama Peruana, Señor Lucho (as the maids call my Peruvian father figure—I still haven’t quite figured out what I should call him, so I have thus far managed to avoid “calling him” altogether), Vanessa (who, as we know, recently turned 22) and her brother Pericles (who is 30 mas o menos). And the household staff consists of Malena and Irma.

Mama Peruana.

The first time I met my mama Peruana was at a Pardo’s Chicken restaurant for dinner (it’s pretty close in atmosphere to Chili’s and the like). My Spanish was abysmal, and there was no chance that anything I said at that point was grammatically correct (or intelligible). This stern/worried lady with vibrant red hair and a leopard print top walked into the restaurant toward our table, and frankly I was a little intimidated by her. She has this air about her that’s almost regal, and you sense that she’s a woman to be reckoned with. She walked over to the table with a hesitant look in her eyes and said, very slowly with precise enunciation, “Soy-------la mama------de Jose Luis.” Very importantly. I replied, casually as I do, “Soy Tina, una amiga de Jose Luis.” The rest of the evening, I was lost in a world of Spanish that I could hardly understand, trying to acclimate to the language, people, and food (we had cow hearts as an appetizer—be proud of me, people, be proud). By the end of the night, the language barrier between the two of us was almost tangible. I figured, yeah, it’s totally a better idea for me to live by myself. I don’t want to impose on these people and create any inconvenience and uncomfortableness to their lives. A few days later, Vanessa invited me to come live with them, but I definitely figured that her mom didn’t like me and that it would be better to live by myself. She told me to think about it and we’d talk about it the next day. The day before she had asked me to live with her, I’d started making arrangements to go stay at the Flying Dog long stay house (the Flying Dog is the hostel I stayed in for my first week in Lima—they’re awesome, by the way, and I still consider that to be my first home in Lima), so I had two very real options. I was torn. Living by myself is so much easier, and there’s so much more freedom to be had. I don’t have to worry about intruding on anyone else’s life or space, and I can also have the freedom to do exactly whatever it is I choose to do at any moment without having to think about how my actions impact anyone else. Just me. On the other hand, I was invited to live with a Peruvian family, whose son I already have a connection with back home, and whose daughter who, from day one, proved to be a great friend. It’s a once in a lifetime opportunity. It’s totally outside my comfort zone…I knew what the right decision was. I talked to Vanessa about my hesitation, about how I didn’t want to intrude. Then she told me her mom had already prepared a room for me at their house. As soon as I heard that, my mind was made up and I knew what to do. 30 minutes later, I packed my bag and was ringing the bell at Vanessa’s. I started unpacking my things, and then mama Peruana showed up to my room with a plateful of food (chicken, rice, and the papa puree that delighted my tastebuds from the get-go). I went out that night with the Peruvian, and when I got home, I walked into my room and there, sitting on my bed, was a package of cookies (the Picaras—they're not actually named Picaroos, as I had thought, I seem to be thinking Little Debbie-style) and a piece of cake. They love me, they really love me! And I love them…since then, my Spanish has come along haltingly, and I have slowly been able to have more conversations with mama Peruana. Her two favorite subjects (very often in the same context) are Jose Luis and comida. Now, Jose and I hadn’t spoken at length until that going away party, which is silly because he’s a fabulous person. What has been fun, though, is becoming closer to a person that is a continent away. Mama Peruana always talks about how sweet Jose is, and how much she misses him. How it pains her to have her son so far away, and how much she loves him. She loves to tell me about how smart he is, how he had so many friends when he was here, how he was always so busy, and just in general how wonderful he is. Sound like any mother you know? : ) I happen to believe and agree with her assessments, though. I have a lot to talk with Jose about when I get home, and I look forward to being able to talk to him about his family. The other thing his mom talks to me a lot about is food. Because as we know, I have become obsessed with food while I’ve been here, and she’s helped that right along. From my first day, she was always asking me how my food was. One bite—“Tan rico?” “Si, muy bien.” Next day, new food. “Tan rico?” “Si, muy rico.” I know what my response is. I also know that I am loving her food and her cooking, and she assures me that Jose Luis knows how to make most of these lovely foods. She also explains to me a lot of the time how to make different dishes, but I always forget. Baking is one thing, but cooking? Meh. Anyway, back to mama Peruana. She reminds me sometimes of Mrs. Bennett from Pride and Prejudice. She always has an air of being right and having things done just so. She's always talking about how cold she is (I relate this to Mrs. Bennett always talking about her nerves) and she’s always yelling for Malena (“Hill!!!”). When she’s not yelling for Malena or Irma, she’s yelling at the dog. There’s always something to fuss about. That being said, I will also say that she is an extremely gracious host and has shown me nothing but kindness since I’ve arrived. At mealtimes, she’s always trying to feed me vast amounts of food, and she’s also introduced me to a number of different desserts, which I am always thankful for. She’s so very motherly. I told her that I’d gotten a few bug bites (which she then determined to be a rash, not bites) and for the next few nights she would come and rub anti-itch cream on my back. When I had my brief stomach malady, she made me soup and tea, and made sure I was eating foods that were good for an upset stomach. She’ll also be taking me to the bus station for my trip up north, which of course I told her she didn’t need to do, but she said, very sternly, that if I wanted her to go she would accompany me. Because she knows where it is. And because I’m going alone. So I told her yes, thank you. She’s my mama Peruana, and really it's best to agree with her. : )

Señor Luchito. (oh yeah, in diminutive.)

My interactions with the Señor have been somewhat limited, but he speaks a little bit of English and loves to use the few English words he knows to translate when he can. I have difficulty deciphering what he’s saying, in both English and Spanish, but I give him major props for trying to make me more comfortable by speaking my language. The Señor loves to tell stories. (Often, the same story to me multiple times, which is something mama Peruana does as well. I find that, as is often the case, I am a listener.) The stories are often centered around his family. There are two sons in Portland that I haven’t met, and every time anyone talks about them, he goes to get their pictures to show me, as if I’ve forgotten about them already. : ) I’m finding out a lot about the family, though. One day we went to a club they belong to, down on the beach front. As it turns out, his great-something grandfather was the founder of the club. Another day, during breakfast, he discovered that I could understand quite a bit more than he had previously thought. He proceeded to spend the next three hours talking to me about all kinds of things. First, about his trip to Spain with mama Peruana, complete with pictures of the property he owns in Spain, the houses on the property, and the very nice hotel they stayed in. (I’ve heard about the trip to Spain from mama Peruana as well—turns out the food in Spain is just not good, aside from the fish. And it rains there! It was so cold! Ugh!) Then we talked about his family history, which was actually terribly interesting. In the 1700’s (ish), his other, even more great-something grandfather moved from Spain to the colonial world at the age of 15 to find his fortune. At some point, he made a contract with some local lords and he took a boat and crew up to Panama to fight pirates—and he won! He then made his fortune stealing that of the pirates. I mean, this family has bona fide pirate stories, how many people can include that in their genealogical history? After talking about pirates, we moved into a different arena, the ever precarious topic of politics. Previous to this marathon conversation, we had touched lightly on the topic of socioeconomics and I found his views to be antiquated and, not surprisingly, very different from my own. He believes that the non-white people here in Peru don’t belong here. (Interesting, this “colonial” frame of mind—the people who are descended from the original inhabitants of the country don’t belong? I just don’t know how this “logic” ever makes sense.) He thinks that all of the “indios”, and I’ll apologize now for not knowing the PC term, are uneducated, rude, and undeserving. In my halting Spanish, I tried pointing out that these families are at an economic disadvantage and therefore unable to pay for education. I never got a response to this, more of a shrug of the shoulders, really. I brought up this same point again during our very long conversation as well, and told him that back in Seattle, I worked for a company that believes in and supports economically disadvantaged students whose families don’t tend to have college education in their background. I treaded lightly in the conversation, listening to what he had to say—he is my host and has been kind enough to let me stay in his home, and I certainly don’t want to offend him. However, as per usual, I tried pointing out other possibilities, other perspectives that I’m sure are not offered to him on a regular basis. We eventually began talking about country leadership, Bush, etc. (I must admit, I was pretty mortified to hear my mama Peruana speak supportively of Fujimori—yikes!) We also started talking about Michael Moore—turns out the Señor likes Michael Moore. What an interesting slant to give to an otherwise completely conservative man! But I love this streak of forward-thinking he possesses. I really want to watch the latest Michael Moore movie with him (which I’m sure we can find pirated at one of the local video stores--he he, there are the pirates again...) and then relate it to the state of health care in his own country. Anyhew, the Señor has also been extremely gracious to me, something I am reminded of every time I put on my silly (and warm) purple chompa.

Pericles.

The first time Vanessa told me the name of her brother Pericles (stress on the first syllable, if you will—and I think you will), I thought I misheard her. But certainly enough, that’s his name, just like the ancient Grecian. Pericles is an architect, just like his dad, and he’s a quiet type, and doesn’t really spend a lot of time at home. The family dog, Jack, is in fact his dog. He likes to tell me that it helps a person to be more social—and he also keeps on trying to get me to buy into the whole “having a dog” theory, but let me tell you that with his dog it’s actually working in reverse. : ) Pericles also inquires rather frequently about when I’m making alfajores again, though when he actually sees me making them (or has also been the case, failing to make them properly) he likes to give pointers but never actually help. He loves to eat them, though, and I have to say that the last batch I made ended up “hiding” in the microwave, which is apparently not so much of a hiding place because when I went to get one in the morning, they were all gone. Pericles says he only ate four, but nobody else in the house ate them. Hmm…which leads me to another random occurrence with Pericles. One day, I was just sitting in my room studying and he walks by my room and says something really rapidly.

“Que?”

“Te parece que soy gordo?” (Do you think I’m fat?)

"Que???"

Did he actually just ask me if I thought he was fat??? That’s a woman question! Apparently this is a question he has been asking since he was a child…and I still find it funny. Hmm, what else about Pericles…yeah, that’s about it for now.

Okay, I have more about the family, but that's going to wrap up my current blog. I keep on waiting a long, long time to finish each blog. But I have more, I promise, and it will be up soon.