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.