The social aspects of breastfeeding

A special edition of Oh Hey, Peru!  As everyone knows breastfeeding is important for kids.  While everyone knows this, the United States is lacking the social aspect of breastfeeding.  Here are my top 5 favorite places I have seen breastfeeding

1) While giving a speech
2) On a motorcycle
3) In line at a bank
4) While selling fruit
5) While signing papers to receive government supplied milk

This time on Oh Hey, Peru

• Field Based Training
• Link to Video

Field Based Training

Several weeks ago (about 6 I believe) all the programs had an event called Field Based Training.  This was an event that ranged from 4 days (for the Health Program) to 7 days (for the Water and Sanitation program).  Field Based Training is pretty much what it sounds like, training in the field.

The lucky WASH program piled onto a bus for a trip to the department of Ica.  Ica is in the coastal region of Peru and is home to grape fields as far as the eye can see.  In this department they make wine and Pisco.  The wine is sweeter than church wine (almost like cough syrup) and the Pisco is great.  If you’ve got some time on your hands learn how to make a Pisco Sour, it’s a delicious drink and based on the fact that eggs are involved, I believe it is healthy.  Besides the quality drink menu, Ica is home to some of the hottest weather and fiercest sun I remember being in, in my mind it is pretty much a huge desert.

Our first two nights were spent in Ica City.  This is a fairly large city with lots of attractions, including a pizza/ice cream restaurant that we discovered immediately.  If you want to see a feeding frenzy, simply load 16, 22-26 year olds onto a bus for 9 hours, feed them terrible vegetarian lasagna, the set them loose on a pizza/ice cream shop.  It’s impressive.  With our days choc full of activities starting at 7:30 am we did the most logical thing and drank a beers on the roof of our hostel.

 7:30 the next day we took a 20min cab ride to a small town called Santiago.  Here we listened to presentations for 6hours.  There is nothing exciting to report during this time except I ate about 17 popsicles.  The next two hours were spent preparing presentations about hand washing for children in the school the next morning.  After 6 hours of not thinking in any language it is hard to become creative in a language that is not your first, but I believe that my teaching partner, Brian, and I created a teaching plan that will forever be remembered.

Hand washing is a very important topic when it comes to public health, especially when it comes to children.  We were teaching children age 5-7, which I’m pretty sure is about 1^st or 2^nd grade.  What I have learned through my previous Peace Corps work at school is that teaching is a slippery slope.  If a lesson is boring, kids won’t pay attention and participate, if the lesson is too fun chaos will erupt in your classroom.  With this class, I think we fell in the too fun/chaos category. 

Brian entered the room and gave introductions, following which, I, dressed as a bandit in a straw hat, cape made of trash bags, and a mask made of trash bags storm into the room.  I was Senor German (pronounced Herman.  The Spanish word for germs is germens, thus I was Mr. Germ).  I announced that my goal was to infect every person in the world with illnesses, following which we had a hand washing race using Tippy-Taps (google it).  To make a long story short, chaos erupted, water was everywhere, and I was covered in glitter (representing germs).

Our next stop was a town called Palpa.  We stayed here for two nights, and I proceeded to eat 7 cheeseburgers.  While in this town we roamed through the dessert with 22 people in a van made for 15.  In this dessert, we toured a water system that was built about 30 years ago by the Canadians.  From what little I know about Canadians, the one thing I can say for certain is that they build hearty water supply systems in developing countries.  This system has never had a single problem since its construction during the mid ‘80s, quite impressive for a system in the middle of the dessert in a developing country.

Following our tour of the system we were instructed to give interviews about household water use.  The only problem with giving interviews in the middle of the dessert is that there are very few people, and on this occasion, the houses we found were severely lacking people.  Some interview groups spoke with 6 year olds, my group stopped a guy on a motorcycle who doesn’t even live in the area, other groups simply wandered down a dusty dirt road searching for people.  We arrived back to our hostel 3 hours later than scheduled, all hot, all sweaty, all tired, and all hungry.  It was a pretty terrible day. 

The following day we traveled further into the Ica heat for reservoir disinfection.  This proved much more entertaining than the previous day’s desert exploration.  Now, the protocol may differ in different countries, but to clean a reservoir in Peru you pretty much throw super concentrated chlorine on the walls and scrub them with a grubby broom.  Pretty fun stuff, but terribly hard on your clothes.  Every item of clothing I wore is now poka-dotted from chlorine splashing off the walls.

After several days in the hot desert sun, any good working crew would need a break.  We were lucky and were given the opportunity to visit an oasis, pretty much a pond in the dessert where you can swim and drink beer.  A great way to relax and a great way to get sunburned.  Following cheeseburgers, we were shown the town by the Peace Corps volunteer that lives there.  Significantly better than the previous day. 

The next two days consisted of traveling, sweating, and being spoken to.  Both were good days with plenty of learning experiences, however they seem to have escaped my memory at this moment in time.  I suppose that says something about our trip, and training in general.  The days are intense and filled with learning.  Like little sponges we try to soak up as much knowledge as we can, but like any sponge I have ever used, we are unable to retain all. 

Field based training was a super fun time in a place I don’t really intend to visit again.  Ica is a desert.  Deserts are not for me. 

Check out this sweet video about Peace Corps Peru 22 (my group)!

Coming Soon (I promise)

•   Site Visits
• Going Away Party
• Swearing in
• Post Swearing In
• First Week in Site

It was a cool and still that night in Lima.  For me it was unusually cool for me.  I was dressed as a robot created out of boxes and 17 soles in silver spray paint, however I was shaking harder than a 1980's station wagon with no shocks on a gravel road.  

The occasion for the robot, you ask?  Quite simply, a standard Thursday night in Peru.  Or, more likely, Halloween.  All the new volunteers were invited to the country director’s house in Lima for a Halloween party featuring cheeseburgers, dancing, and socializing with the staff.  For most that attended, this was a night to remember.  For me, it was a night I hope to forget.  

We arrived in Lima after an hour and a half on a hot combi surrounded by cars, trucks, and smog.  We were all anxious to get out, stretch our legs, and of course, eat some hamburgers.  With the help of some aspirantes, I transform into a robot in a matter of seconds and am ready to party.  With extremely limited peripheral vision I make my way to the house and am greeted by the Peace Corps Peru program director, Zorro and his gypsy wife.

After 90 minutes of pushing fluids on the combi, I feel a sudden need to relieve myself and rush to the bathroom.  Shocked and distressed by the amount of monsters, pirates, and ninjas already inline, I turn to find a new restroom.  As I turn, I am confronted by a man about 80 years old.  Seemingly frightned, he says to me, “My God, what in the world are you?”

“A robot, Sir.  Do you like it?” I ask the elderly man.

Shaking his head with fear in his eyes his response is to walk away, seemingly pondering the interaction he had just been apart of.

After a brief stint in the bathroom, prolonged by the difficulty in removing my corrugated robot, I decide it is time to do what robots do best and hit the dance floor.  What people who have never pretended to be robots may not know, is that the robot dance move is surprisingly diverse and when done correctly, applicable to all songs.  After 20 minutes of being thoroughly impressed by some intense, mechanical movements the folks with cameras decide it is picture time. 

Photos follow more photos, with each pose and orientation blending into one in my mind.  Robot & ninja fights.  Robot & cuy vs ninjas.  Pirates and gypsys.  Gypsys and cuy.  Pirate Robot.  Robot cuy.  The photos that were taken are endless and a constant reminder of what transpired that night.  The Camera Brigade was broken up by the start of a speech from Zorro, the program director. 

The start of speeches in Peru always leaves me worried.  It seems that there is an unwritten rule or tradition when it comes to speeches in Peru in that each speech must be longer and more longwinded than the previous speech.  This can lead to hours of speeches all saying nearly the identical thing.  Not knowing if Zorro was intending to following Peruvian rules, standard speech rules where you say what you feel and move on, or some new set of rules I am unaccustomed to, I was fearful for the time.

Thankfully, the speech was short and was followed by a Pisco Sour toast.  Following which, the burgers were served.  Ravenous, our rag tag group of monsters, pirates, and ninjas crowded around the grill, anxious for what was about to be ingested in the coming minutes.  I had been sick earlier that morning, and was unsure what my frail, metallic robot body could withstand.  The smells of the grill, however, overcame all sense of caution and I loaded up a plate with a burger, salad, watermelon, and potato salad.

Halfway through the burger I knew something was wrong.  I was shaking uncontrollably and had suddenly lost my voracious appetite and was hit with a cold feeling the likes of which I have never felt.  Quickly donning the two ladies fleece jackets that were draped across the back of my chair I scan the area for anything to help my troubling condition.  Spotting a doctor across the yard, I approach and explain my symptoms. 

“Brad!” He exclaims, “You’re shaking.”

“Yes, Doctor.” I reply, arms shaking and shoulders hunched in ill fitting women’s wear, “It’s uncontrollable.  I’m freezing, I have no appetite, and I’m shaking uncontrollably.  Doctor, I feel like shit.”

“Hmm.” He ponders and he checks my forehead for a fever, “You don’t seem to have a fever.  Why don’t you take Tylenol and call me in the morning.”

“Great, Doctor.  Thanks.” I say sincerely as I walk away towards my table.  Relieved to not have a fever and deciding this illness is a figment of my imagination.

Sitting down at my seat, still shaking uncontrollably, I try to stomach more of my still full plate.  Failing to do so I offer it to the table, where it is snatched immediately by a ninja, who ,in turn for the plate of food, offers some advice.

“Dude, I think you’re dying.  You should at least die where it’s warmer, why don’t you go sit inside.”

Seemingly sound advice, I follow it and direct my body, sans robot, with the addition of two fleeces, indoors.  Placing myself on the couch I sit shivering, making small talk and looking at a book about state parks in Arizona.  Approached by another doctor, to whom I again explain my symptoms.  The doctor, now speaking to Zorro, asks for medicine and a place for me to rest.  Ever the hospitable Zorro, I am handed Tylenol and guided to Zorro’s own bed where I rest fitfully for the remainder of the party. 

Awoken, delirious, several hours later, I am guided back to the combi.  Here I am examined by a nurse, who unlike the other imposters of the night is truly a nurse in real life.  Opening her small medical bag, fully equipped with everything a real or pretend nurse could want, she pulls out a thermometer that scans the forehead and reports the temperature.  After the first take, she looks at the device in disbelief and proceeds to take my temperature twice more.  Still in disbelief, she exclaims, “Brad, you have a temperature of 103°.  And a solid 103° at that.”

Much of the rest of the night is a blur or forgotten from my mind, forever sealed away from recognition by my fever.  40 hours later, I awake from 36 hours of sleep, feeling unrested, ill-tempered, and sore I stagger out of my room and face the day.