Inca Wasi
I usually find the time to update this blog on a regular basis, but this morning I realized that I hadn’t posted a blog entry in almost 3 weeks. What gives? By now I was supposed to be well on my way to Santiago, Chile. The plan was to hike around the Cordillera Blanca for a week or two, decompress in Mancora, maybe tour around the ruined citadel of Kuelap, then make a bee-line for Lima and the North of Chile. So what am I still doing in Peru? Well, first thing’s first.
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Cajamarca, if you’ve never heard of it, is a city situated in the north of Peru. It gets practically no tourism despite being the Peruvian capital of Carnival and boasting an idyllic mountain setting which easily rivals Cusco with its Baroque stone architecture and historic importance (this was the site where Pizarro, outnumbered 200 to 1, captured and killed the last Inca Emperor Atahualpa). Like most large South American cities, Cajamarca walks the tightrope between progress and poverty. Over near the historical center stands a two story mall complete with climate control, food court, fashion conscious shoppers and advertisements for the new iPhone 3G (now half price!). A brisk fifteen minute walk from there and you will notice that there are no longer any cars on the road. Ten minutes from there and the roads themselves are no longer even paved. Ten minutes further and the houses no longer have doors or windows. Ten minutes more and you may not have running water or electricity. The proximity of those with so much to those with so little is startling. Luckily, there are organizations like Inca Wasi which are working to correct the imbalance.
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I first heard about Inca Wasi through a friend I met in Lima. We spent only two days together but when we parted I promised (threatened) to pay her a visit the next time I was in northern Peru. Five months later I finally made good on it. By the time I arrived she was nearing the end of her 6 month volunteer stint with the Inca Wasi center. I’m not sure exactly what her role was when she first signed up, but these days she was a teacher, administrator, child psychiatrist, den mother and disciplinarian. There are over 40 children in the program, ages 6 to 17, and when I arrived there were only 3 full time volunteers, one of whom was leaving that week. It was obvious that they needed all the help they could get. Without much hesitation I volunteered to stay on for a month, and even though they traditionally require a minimum commitment of 3 months, without much hesitation they accepted.
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The children in the program are all chosen based upon need, so as you can imagine these are the poorest of the poor. Many are multiple-child, single parent households earning less than 200 Soles (60 dollars) a month. Every single one is a special needs case in one way or another. One of my students is often sleepy and listless because he stays up at night working to help raise income for his family. Another might soon be pulled from the center permanently because at the age of 12 she is now old enough to work a full time job earning 4 Soles a day (roughly a dollar and thirty cents) to help feed her siblings. A third has attempted suicide multiple times and another prefers to sleep on the streets rather than return to a household where he is physically abused.
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The average day at the center is fairly well structured, though we all know that dealing with groups of children is always organized chaos. Every day we offer the children a balanced lunch and a snack. The portions are often bigger than their heads but we insist that they finish every bite because for some of them this is the only food they will eat until tomorrow. Their families are all too poor to afford luxuries like toothbrushes and toothpaste, so we provide them with both and make sure they brush their teeth twice while they are at the center, once after lunch and again after their snack. Like every town high in the Andes, the temperature of Cajamarca can drop precipitously at night. Practically all of the children have cracked skin on their hands or faces from exposure to the elements through inadequate housing, so we give them a little skin cream before they leave for the day. As for activities, we offer them help with the standard school curriculum: math, language, history and science. English lessons are even on the menu, and we mix things up with arts and crafts, computer lessons, and sports. To focus some of their aggressions I set up a punching bag in the main area. My reward has been several excruciating right crosses into the only sensitive area accessible to a 10 year old.
I went into this with the best of intentions, willing to help out a friend and pitch in where I saw a need, but the truth is that I had my doubts. How much of an impact would I possibly make? I am not a trained child psychologist or a behavioral therapist. I can’t begin to personally address many of the problems that these children are dealing with. I’m not a trained educator either. Heck I’m not even a decent Spanish speaker - half the time I can’t understand what the kids are saying to me. The jobs I perform are in-line with my “qualifications” - cleaning up messes, corralling wayward children, preparing snacks, breaking up horseplay that is getting out of hand, giving piggy-back rides and helping out with homework. This may sound insignificant, the truth is that it did at first to me. Still, for most of these kids the center is one of the few positive influences in their lives. If nothing else I am helping to create a stable environment where they can feel safe and a loving community in which they can learn and grow. And yes my role is menial, but even so I know now that it is an important one, and I am proud to have it.
