I am finally safe at "home" in Cajamarca. I had my last tex-mex meal in Austin with Maggie and Will and zipped and locked my luggage for the night flight that transported me into my work world again. It has been a long trip here. My body is tired and weak, but my spirit is happy to be alive in the wet mountain town I call home this year. I arrived a day earlier than Maggie, and unlike Maggie, I got the red light. The customs officials must have thought I looked a little suspicious and sent me off to the right where some annoying guy was going to go through all my personal belongings. But, there was no one off to the right. No one waiting for me to check my bags and hassle me. So I got the red light, but gave myself the green light. I was in. I made my appearance amongst the screaming crowd and I spotted my sweetheart that had traveled down from Cajamarca to meet me and be my Lima bodyguard.
Two nights later I embarked on an overnight travel, this time by bus to Cajamarca. We took the SUPER VIP bus, where the seats go all 180 degrees down for your full sleeping pleasure. Hugo, my sweetheart, and the rest of the bus was snuggled into their posh reclining seats while I was shuffling back and forth. I can never sleep on the overnight, bumpy, 18 hrs. bus rides from Lima. In fact, I hate them. I never feel more grateful (and tired) then when I arrive in Cajamarca after that "laundry machine" like bus ride.
It is rainy, cloudy and cool here in Cajamarca. My apartment looks abandoned with dust covering the floor. Cajamarca feels so familiar - the openness, the dirty streets, the noise, but it feels like I haven't been here forever and it has only been a month. I feel a little adjustment coming in these days to come. A re-cultural shock. A little cleaning and re-connecting with friends should help the adjustment. Work doesn't start until Monday when Maggie and I visit the office and make the announcement that the gringas are in town. Until then, I need some time to breathe this cool air, sleep in MY bed and ground myself.
Saturday, January 17, 2009
Observing the Observer
4:30am—I awakened after a short hour of sleep-induced fog serenaded all night by the drunken party next door. Peruvians like to party and dance, and that’s that. The sound of horn-beeping taxis outside escorting those in their hazy mist lifted my desire to sleep. Ramón, the hotel manager who said he would wake me up at 4:15am to prepare for my trip, was passed out kneeling on the floor with his body draped face-down into the couch. Thankfully I know the Friday night routine of Peruvian parties and bought my own $3 plastic alarm clock out of distrust for my “man alarm.” A man off the streets sees me waiting for my ride and enters the open gate I thought was locked to protect the hotel guests. He stumbles inside and I am a bit troubled when he walks into my room and closes the door as I am leaving for my cab. There are just some things that you can’t explain.The ride to the airport was accompanied by the ocean mist of the dark morning and getting through the various hoops to arrive at the waiting lounge for our domestic flight to Cajamarca was uneventful. Too easy. If there is one thing I should have learned by now about getting things done in a developing country, it is this: expect the unexpected.
After a short and pleasant 45-minute flight over the Andes Mountains and majestic views of the Cordillera Blanca (photo shown here), the pilot seems to be circling the green hilly farmlands of Caja below. I recall the first time we entered this bowl of green, couched in the middle of the mountains, and thinking, “this is my new home.” And freaking out, “this is my new home!” After five minutes of circling, the pilot announces that we cannot land due to limited visibility with the wet season clouds clinging low in the air. FYI: they don’t use radar when landing in Caja because it is such a small airport there is no tower, so the pilots land by site. No site, no landing.
Ten minutes pass and we try again. I keep envisioning myself on the ground with Brian, one of the DiscoverHope Fund Board Members who lives in Cajamarca. We are so close! The pilot mumbles a quick message in rapid Spanish, and I know from the noise activity on the plane that we are going back to Lima. I also know that there will be no flight this afternoon since approaching in the afternoon is impossible as the skies fill with rain and more clouds during wet season. I notice how annoyed and angry I am, sitting next to Mahlon, an old gringo friend who happened to be traveling up at the same time. In fact, we carry on together about how we are both annoyed. I look around and everyone seems calm. I start thinking about the concept of time in our culture and how in general, when our plans don’t go the way “plans are meant to”, we feel we are off course. I always admire the way that Peruvians just accept that time works itself out. It just is. I’ve been in a bank line before that theoretically should have taken 15 minutes and waited 2 hours with no known reason, with everyone around me calm and relaxed while I was fuming.
The wheels hit the ground in Lima and I dread what’s ahead. I know the nonexistence of organization of small matters in Peru, and so I know that working out a plane filled with passengers to get to Cajamarca is going to be tough, really tough. I walk briskly to the baggage area and follow the crowd as we’ve been told nothing yet, and I know that there will be no official announcement, that we’ll just need to catch the crowd mumble to understand what is going on. I see a group surrounding an airline rep in a circle and all I hear him say is “50 seats, tomorrow” and the rest is a blur. These words turn on the “serve thy self” switch in my mind, so I keep walking onward briskly to the counter where we will be processed. This quick move finds Mahlon and I at the front of a line that soon becomes a swell of anger, sadness, and yelling as the airline rep tells the passengers they are not responsible and only 50 people (of the 150 or so) will get on tomorrow’s plane. For the non-first 50, no answer, just a general mumbling about getting them on another flight next week sometime. There is desperation and the scene becomes aggressive as people demand to have an additional flight booked so all the passengers can get to Cajamarca. The airline isn’t bending and I see myself getting edged out of line by nervous and unhappy people. (Cutting is common in Peru, and since women are generally not in power, even more cutting.) In this moment, in the midst of the chaos, I realize that I am operating on the survival of the fittest mode. I am not happy about this, especially because I like to live with all the heart I can. But I see this not-so-pretty part of myself emerge as I seek a boarding pass.
My existential self kicks in…knowledge always seems to be about something or someone else, a “collection” of information about observation. Einstein, amongst others, brought up that the observer was the one variable not being looked at. As such, when we look at the one who is looking, he noted that a whole new world is revealed. From this musing, the Western world welcomed what Eastern thought had known for time: “what you see depends on how you see it.” Paul Ferrini, an author I love, wrote, “If we want to continue to understand the workings of the world, we will study the object and how it behaves. If we want to understand the workings of consciousness, we will study the observer and how it sees.” Observing myself as the observer, I see in this moment that I am very human, wrought with ego. I want to get my pass, amidst the tears and concern around me. I don’t feel proud.
At the counter, we are told that the first 50 people who checked in for the flight that a.m. will be the ones given the boarding passes; everyone else must wait for another time. At least I know that as my boarding pass is handed to me, I am rewarded for my day ahead e-check in, which many locals wouldn’t be able to do in Peru (i.e. access to computer and printer.) So I am rewarded for my access to early check-in. Mahlon and I walk away with our boarding passes, knowing we will follow the same pattern tomorrow and head for Cajamarca. We are “successful” but I am left with the sour memory of my powerful ego obsessing on my boarding pass. As I walk out into the dusty loop of taxis, I can only find solace in the fact that I am awake to what I don’t like about this part of me. There is no reconciliation.
This journey is filled with the ever present challenges that are inseparable parts of doing international development work in a developing nation. There are so many layers to unpeel for you. This work, the work of DiscoverHope and our quest to create opportunity for women in poverty, inevitably gives so many opportunities to us by holding up that mirror for growth.
It reminds me of a piece I wrote about this divide I felt one day on the streets of Cajamarca:
across the concrete divide
the sell desperately.
i am freshly showered.
i am watched while i watch
the rhythm of the day passes with a 20-person street band
and the bells of bread carts
everyone is waiting
waiting for something
maybe something better.
or maybe i'm the only unsettled one
while they can sit on concrete slabs for hours
watching
yet aren't we always seeking?
i want simplicity
they want opportunity
we all want some opening for joy
the woman with half her face covered in mold wants it
the wrinkled hunchback man pushing a cart with 200 oranges wants it
and me, fresh and clean, i want it.
from our unsettled spaces in the human story
we each do what we know
waiting to open new magical golden doors
across the concrete divide
the door opens
and i walk thru.
From Lima, blessings to you as you observe. MM
It reminds me of a piece I wrote about this divide I felt one day on the streets of Cajamarca:
across the concrete divide
the sell desperately.
i am freshly showered.
i am watched while i watch
the rhythm of the day passes with a 20-person street band
and the bells of bread carts
everyone is waiting
waiting for something
maybe something better.
or maybe i'm the only unsettled one
while they can sit on concrete slabs for hours
watching
yet aren't we always seeking?
i want simplicity
they want opportunity
we all want some opening for joy
the woman with half her face covered in mold wants it
the wrinkled hunchback man pushing a cart with 200 oranges wants it
and me, fresh and clean, i want it.
from our unsettled spaces in the human story
we each do what we know
waiting to open new magical golden doors
across the concrete divide
the door opens
and i walk thru.
From Lima, blessings to you as you observe. MM
Friday, January 16, 2009
Unearthing Vulnerability in Lima
Sitting in the “Comida Arabe” café (Middle Eastern Food) in Lima, there is always a falafel stopover as part of my Lima visit. Pictures of Jordan, Palestine, and Jerusalem randomly cover the cream cracking walls, a Spanish voice sings to the mystical trance of a beat that could certainly make a Cobra rise.
For me, Lima is a fairly intimidating city. It’s expansive, chaotic, crowded, and has all the elements of cities I know from the US—from modern department stores to poverty stricken urban areas and everything in between. Throw in the language switch to quick Spanish and you can get to feeling lost. This makes me think about not only immigrants who come to live and work in the U.S., but refugees that are planted in our cities all over the U.S.—how lost, lonely and scared they must feel. To transplant yourself the other way around gives you a great deal of sensitivity that is palpable inside of you.
Last night I arrived in Lima at about midnight. I always feel somewhat nervous about the trek from the airport to the Miraflores District of Lima, where I’ve learned enough of the “ropes” to feel settled for a day or two stop over before I head to the mountains to Cajamarca.
At the Lima airport, once you pass through immigrations and collect the luggage you anxiously hope shows up, you come to your first ultimate moment, which I call “The Stop Light.” Before you leave the “secured area” into the public, you must literally pass through the security team by pressing a button in front of a stoplight that turns red or green. Some folks have fathomed that someone is behind the smoky glass you can see above and behind the stoplight area, deciding your fate. Whether or not this is true, I always use as much positive intention to get the green go-ahead. If so, you move swiftly forward and think a silent thank you! If red, you move to the side where all of your belongings are taken apart (not just lifted up or shifted around, but unpacked.) There is a very specific list of items on the back of the application to enter the county that states what items you may bring into the country without paying “taxes.” However, the list seems to me it was last revised circa 1985 since the directory of allowable items is highlighted with oldies but goodies like cassette tapes. Needless to say, if you get the red light and get “unpacked” you’re not going to argue any “taxes” that may be required to continue on. I had two flip video cameras and three web cameras beneath my stuff for use in the field and was wondering what the red light might cost me. If you do get the red light, it can help you greatly to use the “whining tool.” This is a form of a Spanish voice that is unmistakingly popular when trying to get your way and has a very high rate of success, may I add. The sound is like a slightly begging puppy. I’ve used it before, throwing in details of how I lived there for two years and how much I love to help their women. The art of negotiation is key when the way “way of doing things” is ever-changing and not established by a set of rules. Green light for me this time!
The “Stop Light” is your first test of playing it cool. The next 100 yards beyond the light finds you around a corner, entering the sea of people waiting in the public zone. Basically you exit out into the mass of nearly 200 Peruvians waiting to meet their guests in clustered noisy crowds behind a small waist-high metal barrier 5 yards from you. Here you are on full display on the catwalk entering into public as you get looked upon from every angle. This is where you must muster up the “I know what I’m doing so don’t screw with me” look so you exude confidence in the craziness. You will be approached by about 50 different taxi drivers competing for your business yelling their prices from every direction. Some of them question you: “Taxi?” Others seem to command you toward a ride they know you need: “Taxi!!”
The unknown taxi driver ride requires another layer of confidence altogether, especially as a white woman alone in the middle of the night. I have to say, I simply don’t dig riding into the darkness of the city at 12:30am with all of my possessions with a man I’ve never known in my life in a country where I don’t really have rights as I know them. (Side note: the passport is your most golden possession and is always your first concern over any other material item or money; it gets you home with absolute hassle. I carry mine under my clothes in a waist belt).
Once in the taxi on the way to Miraflores, all you can do is hope for safety and guidance from something or someone, wherever you summon your Power. In general, you have no idea where you are or if the route is right or wrong. The route to Miraflores often requires weaving through parts of the city, and there are always moments we turn down some empty alleyway street to cut to a new road and I think to myself— this is WAY beyond my control right now and I hope this man is a good person. One of my strategies for personal engagement is to be chatty with the driver from the get-go…using humor and asking questions, especially framed about his family and children, and bringing up the work DIscoverHope does in Cajamarca. An appeal to the pathos can go a long way!
When we arrive at the hotel, I am always thankful once again for the safe arrival. In my room last night, a humid layer from the Lima summer heat clung to the think still air. This hostel room has many buried memories of travelers in the old tile floor, the cracking walls, the weathered dusty furniture, and straw mattress bed. I don’t know if it was the vulnerability of the trip and opening myself to absolute protection beyond my own will, but sitting in the dark heat of the room in Lima with the fan click-clacking a small gust of air was a super lonely feeling. It made me think of how expansive this world is; I wondered, where in the world were all of you and what were you doing and feeling at the exact same moment? Through that thought came gratitude for a secure place where I could close my eyes.
Lima always brings these feelings of vulnerability and unknown for me—but nevertheless, a necessary stop on the way to the North. All day, I will stumble adjusting to my Spanish voice, which at its peak is flowing and adept, but now choppy from the year away. In the course of these days in Lima, the transformation takes place...there must be a code switch, inside and outside. I must shed the cocoon of expectations about the way things work.
The Latin beats have overtaken the Middle Eastern mystique and my falafel has filled me up, and I am ready to hit the streets. Tomorrow, while you are sleeping or drinking your early morning coffee, I will be winding my way back through these streets to the airport to catch the sun rising over the Andes Mountains. I’ll write you tomorrow from the cool and wet North.
To vulnerability and the gratitude it unearths from us, MM
For me, Lima is a fairly intimidating city. It’s expansive, chaotic, crowded, and has all the elements of cities I know from the US—from modern department stores to poverty stricken urban areas and everything in between. Throw in the language switch to quick Spanish and you can get to feeling lost. This makes me think about not only immigrants who come to live and work in the U.S., but refugees that are planted in our cities all over the U.S.—how lost, lonely and scared they must feel. To transplant yourself the other way around gives you a great deal of sensitivity that is palpable inside of you.
Last night I arrived in Lima at about midnight. I always feel somewhat nervous about the trek from the airport to the Miraflores District of Lima, where I’ve learned enough of the “ropes” to feel settled for a day or two stop over before I head to the mountains to Cajamarca.
At the Lima airport, once you pass through immigrations and collect the luggage you anxiously hope shows up, you come to your first ultimate moment, which I call “The Stop Light.” Before you leave the “secured area” into the public, you must literally pass through the security team by pressing a button in front of a stoplight that turns red or green. Some folks have fathomed that someone is behind the smoky glass you can see above and behind the stoplight area, deciding your fate. Whether or not this is true, I always use as much positive intention to get the green go-ahead. If so, you move swiftly forward and think a silent thank you! If red, you move to the side where all of your belongings are taken apart (not just lifted up or shifted around, but unpacked.) There is a very specific list of items on the back of the application to enter the county that states what items you may bring into the country without paying “taxes.” However, the list seems to me it was last revised circa 1985 since the directory of allowable items is highlighted with oldies but goodies like cassette tapes. Needless to say, if you get the red light and get “unpacked” you’re not going to argue any “taxes” that may be required to continue on. I had two flip video cameras and three web cameras beneath my stuff for use in the field and was wondering what the red light might cost me. If you do get the red light, it can help you greatly to use the “whining tool.” This is a form of a Spanish voice that is unmistakingly popular when trying to get your way and has a very high rate of success, may I add. The sound is like a slightly begging puppy. I’ve used it before, throwing in details of how I lived there for two years and how much I love to help their women. The art of negotiation is key when the way “way of doing things” is ever-changing and not established by a set of rules. Green light for me this time!
The “Stop Light” is your first test of playing it cool. The next 100 yards beyond the light finds you around a corner, entering the sea of people waiting in the public zone. Basically you exit out into the mass of nearly 200 Peruvians waiting to meet their guests in clustered noisy crowds behind a small waist-high metal barrier 5 yards from you. Here you are on full display on the catwalk entering into public as you get looked upon from every angle. This is where you must muster up the “I know what I’m doing so don’t screw with me” look so you exude confidence in the craziness. You will be approached by about 50 different taxi drivers competing for your business yelling their prices from every direction. Some of them question you: “Taxi?” Others seem to command you toward a ride they know you need: “Taxi!!”
The unknown taxi driver ride requires another layer of confidence altogether, especially as a white woman alone in the middle of the night. I have to say, I simply don’t dig riding into the darkness of the city at 12:30am with all of my possessions with a man I’ve never known in my life in a country where I don’t really have rights as I know them. (Side note: the passport is your most golden possession and is always your first concern over any other material item or money; it gets you home with absolute hassle. I carry mine under my clothes in a waist belt).
Once in the taxi on the way to Miraflores, all you can do is hope for safety and guidance from something or someone, wherever you summon your Power. In general, you have no idea where you are or if the route is right or wrong. The route to Miraflores often requires weaving through parts of the city, and there are always moments we turn down some empty alleyway street to cut to a new road and I think to myself— this is WAY beyond my control right now and I hope this man is a good person. One of my strategies for personal engagement is to be chatty with the driver from the get-go…using humor and asking questions, especially framed about his family and children, and bringing up the work DIscoverHope does in Cajamarca. An appeal to the pathos can go a long way!
When we arrive at the hotel, I am always thankful once again for the safe arrival. In my room last night, a humid layer from the Lima summer heat clung to the think still air. This hostel room has many buried memories of travelers in the old tile floor, the cracking walls, the weathered dusty furniture, and straw mattress bed. I don’t know if it was the vulnerability of the trip and opening myself to absolute protection beyond my own will, but sitting in the dark heat of the room in Lima with the fan click-clacking a small gust of air was a super lonely feeling. It made me think of how expansive this world is; I wondered, where in the world were all of you and what were you doing and feeling at the exact same moment? Through that thought came gratitude for a secure place where I could close my eyes.
Lima always brings these feelings of vulnerability and unknown for me—but nevertheless, a necessary stop on the way to the North. All day, I will stumble adjusting to my Spanish voice, which at its peak is flowing and adept, but now choppy from the year away. In the course of these days in Lima, the transformation takes place...there must be a code switch, inside and outside. I must shed the cocoon of expectations about the way things work.
The Latin beats have overtaken the Middle Eastern mystique and my falafel has filled me up, and I am ready to hit the streets. Tomorrow, while you are sleeping or drinking your early morning coffee, I will be winding my way back through these streets to the airport to catch the sun rising over the Andes Mountains. I’ll write you tomorrow from the cool and wet North.
To vulnerability and the gratitude it unearths from us, MM
Thursday, January 15, 2009
Your Door to the World
I’m here in Houston on travel day enjoying some last favorite food and drink before my afternoon flight to Lima. That’s not to say there aren’t delicious things to eat in Peru…but it’s a major meat-eating country and many of you know I just don’t dig meat in general. In fact, there is often a misnomer that the food in Peru is like that of Mexico or some of the other Central American countries. On the contrary, people in Peru have no menu items like refried beans, black beans, cheddar cheese, and salsa used atop a fresh corn tortilla (my absolute favorite food in the world). In fact, I used to have my mentor Dan pack the biggest block of cheddar cheese possible and a pack of 50 corn tortillas when he visited Cajamarca for business during my years there. We’d have “Mexican” parties and invite our Peruvian friends to try it out.
A typical Peruvian fare is a piece of beef (if the family can afford it) and rice or potatoes, heavy starch. Otherwise, you’ll find a fried egg atop some rice and some white beans or lentils. When I first arrived in Peru in 2004, I was so psyched when I saw “tortilla” on the menu and ordered it… what I soon found out was that tortilla meant egg base mixed with whatever veggie or meat you desire fried into a hash brown/pancake kind of thing. Around that same time, I asked for the menú (thinking I would be ordering some food off of it), but that word in Peru means the “special of the day.” I got some piece of beef and quickly learned that our version of menu is called “la carta” if you want to see what’s for eating.
This brings me to the central thought of this blog. As I go through this crossover of travel from the US to Peru, it always brings up strong emotions for me. Most of these feelings are about leaving familiarity on so many levels. As I boarded the plane for my first stop in Houston on the airwalk, the words on the outside of the plane as I stepped inside said “Here is your open door to the world.” I thought, absolutely appropriate!
There is something wonderfully intense that happens inside for us when we leave the borders of the USA. Many people will never leave the country, and that is absolutely fine. However, I would advocate for anyone reading this that feels dead-end and beat up by how their life is currently going, or a feeling about lack of meaning or completion of a phase in life, or a need to get away—take a trip to see yourself with Other Eyes.
I cannot speak from the perspective of travel to other developed countries (i.e. Europe), since I’ve only traveled to “Developing Countries.” (I am not fond of the term “Third World” at all; I just personally don’t know where we got the feeling that what we/others like us should be termed “First?” Anyway, that’s just food for thought and you won’t see me using that term for reference).
What I do know is that there is something really vulnerable about leaving everything you know and what comforts you. Even as I sit here en route to Lima, I recall that every time I’ve touched down in another country I’ve thought, my rules don’t apply here now…and get used to it ASAP! Of course, that can be worrisome in some ways, but in many other ways it is the exact opportunity to see what deep and amazing people we are. Foraging your way into discomfort requires you to access an entirely different layer of your depth. You are not the norm. Your customs and ways are not the norm. You become the different. There is something terrifying and refreshing about becoming accustomed to those feelings. We’ve all seen the level of commitment people dig from within themselves in times of crisis in our lives in some way or another…and it is the very same profundity of the Self that comes out in exploring this new space when you travel abroad. Only from my perspective can I say that travel to developing world adds another layer of humility and gratitude, for everything.
My desire for these experiences was part of the reason I left San Diego for Peru in 2004 and eventually created the HopeBank project with my hubby and others that was the precursor to DHF. People asked me what I was doing leaving a job, people, and place I loved. My answer was simple: I knew for me that I needed to “see with other eyes” to maximize the person I could become. I look back and feel so thankful that I moved through the fear of letting it all go (and still have to do that every day!). Now I know not everyone can do that or wants to do that…so I just advocate the experience in some sort of way. This year, I’d love for DiscoverHope Fund to host our first “Other Eyes” journey where people travel to Cajamarca to engage in social adventure.
My familiar meal has come to an end and I am getting ready to board the plane soon. It doesn’t matter how many times I do this, I am terrified and excited every time. Until tomorrow, from Lima, Peru.
To your own explorations. MM
A typical Peruvian fare is a piece of beef (if the family can afford it) and rice or potatoes, heavy starch. Otherwise, you’ll find a fried egg atop some rice and some white beans or lentils. When I first arrived in Peru in 2004, I was so psyched when I saw “tortilla” on the menu and ordered it… what I soon found out was that tortilla meant egg base mixed with whatever veggie or meat you desire fried into a hash brown/pancake kind of thing. Around that same time, I asked for the menú (thinking I would be ordering some food off of it), but that word in Peru means the “special of the day.” I got some piece of beef and quickly learned that our version of menu is called “la carta” if you want to see what’s for eating.
This brings me to the central thought of this blog. As I go through this crossover of travel from the US to Peru, it always brings up strong emotions for me. Most of these feelings are about leaving familiarity on so many levels. As I boarded the plane for my first stop in Houston on the airwalk, the words on the outside of the plane as I stepped inside said “Here is your open door to the world.” I thought, absolutely appropriate!
There is something wonderfully intense that happens inside for us when we leave the borders of the USA. Many people will never leave the country, and that is absolutely fine. However, I would advocate for anyone reading this that feels dead-end and beat up by how their life is currently going, or a feeling about lack of meaning or completion of a phase in life, or a need to get away—take a trip to see yourself with Other Eyes.
I cannot speak from the perspective of travel to other developed countries (i.e. Europe), since I’ve only traveled to “Developing Countries.” (I am not fond of the term “Third World” at all; I just personally don’t know where we got the feeling that what we/others like us should be termed “First?” Anyway, that’s just food for thought and you won’t see me using that term for reference).
What I do know is that there is something really vulnerable about leaving everything you know and what comforts you. Even as I sit here en route to Lima, I recall that every time I’ve touched down in another country I’ve thought, my rules don’t apply here now…and get used to it ASAP! Of course, that can be worrisome in some ways, but in many other ways it is the exact opportunity to see what deep and amazing people we are. Foraging your way into discomfort requires you to access an entirely different layer of your depth. You are not the norm. Your customs and ways are not the norm. You become the different. There is something terrifying and refreshing about becoming accustomed to those feelings. We’ve all seen the level of commitment people dig from within themselves in times of crisis in our lives in some way or another…and it is the very same profundity of the Self that comes out in exploring this new space when you travel abroad. Only from my perspective can I say that travel to developing world adds another layer of humility and gratitude, for everything.
My desire for these experiences was part of the reason I left San Diego for Peru in 2004 and eventually created the HopeBank project with my hubby and others that was the precursor to DHF. People asked me what I was doing leaving a job, people, and place I loved. My answer was simple: I knew for me that I needed to “see with other eyes” to maximize the person I could become. I look back and feel so thankful that I moved through the fear of letting it all go (and still have to do that every day!). Now I know not everyone can do that or wants to do that…so I just advocate the experience in some sort of way. This year, I’d love for DiscoverHope Fund to host our first “Other Eyes” journey where people travel to Cajamarca to engage in social adventure.
My familiar meal has come to an end and I am getting ready to board the plane soon. It doesn’t matter how many times I do this, I am terrified and excited every time. Until tomorrow, from Lima, Peru.
To your own explorations. MM
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
Doing Business with the “Gringa”
Visiting the field in Peru once annually is not a simple indulgence for me, although it certainly brings me back to quintessential reminders about why we do what we do by being close to the women we serve. Organizational leadership is more than often assumed by men, and is generally very formal and scripted in Cajamarca Peru. For example, in the U.S., DHF holds a lot of first time meetings to talk about our work and make introductions in casual coffee shop settings. I’ve suggested meetings with potential partners in Peru in coffee shops who don their full suits and pick me up in a car at my hotel to drive me 5 blocks (a car is an unusual commodity and likely takes some major finagling to borrow from someone). I think the business men are usually surprised I am a 30-something woman who looks very “gringa” (white lady) and is dressed pretty relaxed. They seem to stumble at first when they meet me, “Magdalena Miller? Executive Directora?” (Magdalyn Miller, Executive Director?). This is a nonverbal communication dream to watch them try and act unsurprised and professional. I really love people dynamics, so it’s kind of fun to dissect.
The business men usually have scripted introductions that are very ceremonial and feel like the beginning of a seminar; they have mounds of documents to prove their significance. I listen to them and sip on my coffee powder. Because Peru is generally a patriarchic society (especially in less developed areas outside of Lima), I always wonder about the tension the may be feeling between me being a woman and the fact that as a potential partner (with funding projects), I am in a business power position. I do my best, as I do here, to help people relax through laughter.
I don’t find joy in ego power struggle, but there is another layer that is about being from the “United States of America.” It’s like a palpable layer that NEVER goes away, even as you form friendships. With that label, there is so much innuendo that will take me other posts to even scrape the essence (the good, the bad, the ugly of it). One thing stands…USA=$ in business situations. This can be tricky to shed this as central when you are talking about nonprofit work, whereby charitable work is at the core. There is a lot more to be said on all this, and I promise, I don’t see myself as some innocent bystander in all of it. I am very much a participant, even when I don’t like what that means.
Because of these business formalities, there is something very culturally powerful and important about the “Director” showing up to check on things, sign new contracts, talk through new ideas etc. Those of you who know me will know that that kind of CEO complex is not what I live for or really how I do my own business, but it sets the context of things for my journey. My favorite part of the journey is getting into the field and being with the women, who are so thankful for opportunities and the level of gratitude is so immense that it just helps me know that we are doing exactly the right thing. They humble me with their strength.
So, on the eve of the journey I am pulling together many things. What’s in the ol’ suitcase? Literacy supplies for our classes (Nora suggested we get them and that the ladies will be SO happy to receive crazy patterned erasers and pencils etc as recognition for their work); The “Medicine Cabinet” for Nora (all the over-the-counter stuff you wished you had there if you don’t); warm clothes for the mountain air since Caja is at about 8500 feet; some gifts for old Peruvian friends; and a stack of paperwork assignments from DHF since printing out things can be a challenge at times. Favorite items in the bag? My raincoat…and waterproof laptop carrier, since it is wet season and the beginning of Carnival holiday season (which lasts 1.5 months there, ugh.) This means that you must watch out at all times for flying balloons smacking your face and body that were launched from somewhere. This is an old tradition there, but it hurts, is embarrassing, and can ruin your cool expensive electronic stuff like the digital camera. This is where standing out as a white gringa is not to your advantage!
I will keep you posted tomorrow on travel day.
Always Hope, MM
The business men usually have scripted introductions that are very ceremonial and feel like the beginning of a seminar; they have mounds of documents to prove their significance. I listen to them and sip on my coffee powder. Because Peru is generally a patriarchic society (especially in less developed areas outside of Lima), I always wonder about the tension the may be feeling between me being a woman and the fact that as a potential partner (with funding projects), I am in a business power position. I do my best, as I do here, to help people relax through laughter.
I don’t find joy in ego power struggle, but there is another layer that is about being from the “United States of America.” It’s like a palpable layer that NEVER goes away, even as you form friendships. With that label, there is so much innuendo that will take me other posts to even scrape the essence (the good, the bad, the ugly of it). One thing stands…USA=$ in business situations. This can be tricky to shed this as central when you are talking about nonprofit work, whereby charitable work is at the core. There is a lot more to be said on all this, and I promise, I don’t see myself as some innocent bystander in all of it. I am very much a participant, even when I don’t like what that means.
Because of these business formalities, there is something very culturally powerful and important about the “Director” showing up to check on things, sign new contracts, talk through new ideas etc. Those of you who know me will know that that kind of CEO complex is not what I live for or really how I do my own business, but it sets the context of things for my journey. My favorite part of the journey is getting into the field and being with the women, who are so thankful for opportunities and the level of gratitude is so immense that it just helps me know that we are doing exactly the right thing. They humble me with their strength.
So, on the eve of the journey I am pulling together many things. What’s in the ol’ suitcase? Literacy supplies for our classes (Nora suggested we get them and that the ladies will be SO happy to receive crazy patterned erasers and pencils etc as recognition for their work); The “Medicine Cabinet” for Nora (all the over-the-counter stuff you wished you had there if you don’t); warm clothes for the mountain air since Caja is at about 8500 feet; some gifts for old Peruvian friends; and a stack of paperwork assignments from DHF since printing out things can be a challenge at times. Favorite items in the bag? My raincoat…and waterproof laptop carrier, since it is wet season and the beginning of Carnival holiday season (which lasts 1.5 months there, ugh.) This means that you must watch out at all times for flying balloons smacking your face and body that were launched from somewhere. This is an old tradition there, but it hurts, is embarrassing, and can ruin your cool expensive electronic stuff like the digital camera. This is where standing out as a white gringa is not to your advantage!
I will keep you posted tomorrow on travel day.
Always Hope, MM
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
Here We Go...Maggie's First Blog
Dear DHF Family,
This is my first blog entry, ever! I’m looking forward to a new page in DHF history where we use this blog and other forms of social media to invite you into the life layers of DHF. One of the organizational values of DHF is “practicing authenticity” –for us, this is a form of transparency where you get to know the DHF journey and our highs, lows…and what it takes to do the business of international development focused on microcredit and social support systems for women in economic poverty.
I’m honored to share this blog with Nora Bedard, our Peru Program Manager, who works everyday in the highlands of Cajamarca Peru to make these support systems come to life for the 200+ women we work with in microcredit village banks. This blog was started by Nora when I dropped her off for life in the Andes Mountains. If you are interested in reading about her successes and trials in the field from her ‘08 year, I encourage you to go and check out her previous writings. With Nora at the helm in Peru, we were able to provide 311 classes for women last year with about $5000! This work was born out of her absolute commitment to making this happen. Nora’s reflections are honest snapshots about the enormous energy and heart it takes to do work on the ground in a developing country. These blogs will keep you on the pulse of the project and keep you close to our beneficiaries.
My writings will invite you into the perspective of the Founder’s forum, where you will know what it means to birth a nonprofit organization with an amazing team and consistently build the frame and growth of our work. This will be a great place for us to engage valuable information about bootstrapping a business and what the nonprofit world is like in that picture. Doing the work of international development has its own unique set of challenges, one of the most prominent being the sensitivity involved with the cultural divide. I’m also an avid fan of creative writing, and you’ll certainly experience that part of me, ruminating on a macro level about what it means to be the change with you.
There’s no better time to launch this blog than on the verge of my annual Peru trip where I return to the field and visit the project. Anyone who has traveled in a developing country knows that the “Unknown” must become your best friend. For those of you who know my style of pragmatic detail and 1000 to-do lists (that I like to check off!), this is always brings discomfort that brings ultimate comfort in the learning. My two years of living in Peru in 2004-2005 gave me a profound sense of Trust in process that I sometimes forget in the fast-paced movement of our U.S. culture.
Nora also leaves for her second year in the field tomorrow. Until Feb 1, I will leave a daily blog of this Peru experience and how it relates to DHF as we look toward our 3-year birthday in April. When I return to the US, I will decide what the best frequency/subject of writing is based on your interest. Regardless, Nora and I will both be here throughout the year, looking to be a part of the DHF ripple creating a world without poverty.
Enjoy the Adventures in Hope with us. Invite a friend you think would be interested to the blog and let’s grow together.
Much Peace for you, MM
This is my first blog entry, ever! I’m looking forward to a new page in DHF history where we use this blog and other forms of social media to invite you into the life layers of DHF. One of the organizational values of DHF is “practicing authenticity” –for us, this is a form of transparency where you get to know the DHF journey and our highs, lows…and what it takes to do the business of international development focused on microcredit and social support systems for women in economic poverty.
I’m honored to share this blog with Nora Bedard, our Peru Program Manager, who works everyday in the highlands of Cajamarca Peru to make these support systems come to life for the 200+ women we work with in microcredit village banks. This blog was started by Nora when I dropped her off for life in the Andes Mountains. If you are interested in reading about her successes and trials in the field from her ‘08 year, I encourage you to go and check out her previous writings. With Nora at the helm in Peru, we were able to provide 311 classes for women last year with about $5000! This work was born out of her absolute commitment to making this happen. Nora’s reflections are honest snapshots about the enormous energy and heart it takes to do work on the ground in a developing country. These blogs will keep you on the pulse of the project and keep you close to our beneficiaries.
My writings will invite you into the perspective of the Founder’s forum, where you will know what it means to birth a nonprofit organization with an amazing team and consistently build the frame and growth of our work. This will be a great place for us to engage valuable information about bootstrapping a business and what the nonprofit world is like in that picture. Doing the work of international development has its own unique set of challenges, one of the most prominent being the sensitivity involved with the cultural divide. I’m also an avid fan of creative writing, and you’ll certainly experience that part of me, ruminating on a macro level about what it means to be the change with you.
There’s no better time to launch this blog than on the verge of my annual Peru trip where I return to the field and visit the project. Anyone who has traveled in a developing country knows that the “Unknown” must become your best friend. For those of you who know my style of pragmatic detail and 1000 to-do lists (that I like to check off!), this is always brings discomfort that brings ultimate comfort in the learning. My two years of living in Peru in 2004-2005 gave me a profound sense of Trust in process that I sometimes forget in the fast-paced movement of our U.S. culture.
Nora also leaves for her second year in the field tomorrow. Until Feb 1, I will leave a daily blog of this Peru experience and how it relates to DHF as we look toward our 3-year birthday in April. When I return to the US, I will decide what the best frequency/subject of writing is based on your interest. Regardless, Nora and I will both be here throughout the year, looking to be a part of the DHF ripple creating a world without poverty.
Enjoy the Adventures in Hope with us. Invite a friend you think would be interested to the blog and let’s grow together.
Much Peace for you, MM
Monday, January 12, 2009
You put your left foot in, your put your right foot out
This is the feeling right now. One foot in, the other out. One foot in Austin, one foot in Peru. I am writing to you live from DHF headquarters in Austin, TX. This is my first time here meeting the Discover Hope family in TX, and what a big and loving family it is. But, I am on my way back to the DHF family in Cajamarca in only a few short days.
It has been so wonderful for me to be here in this place before beginning the 2nd year journey of field work in Cajamarca. I can put some puzzle pieces together about what and who Discover Hope is on a side of the organization that was only a mystery to me before. I know this time I have had here in Austin will help me on those long, frustrating and lonely days in Cajamarca. I now know and have met much of the crew that works endlessly here in Austin to make life changing things happen in Cajamara. Thank you for your work and support, if you are reading this, thank you! It takes many pieces, steps and big hearted folks to make things happen.
Maggie and I have also been having a ton of brainstorming sessions during my short time here. It has been so great to fill up my energy battery and know that we will use many of our lessons learned from last year and move forward this year.
Although I know the annoying culture elements that await me in Peru (stinky combi rides, limited hot showers and thousands of potato dishes), I also know that DHF has ideas and passions to support and foster the women that are awaiting us in Peru. I am ready to shake it up and make some things happen. So I will put my left and right foot in and start taking some of those steps.
It has been so wonderful for me to be here in this place before beginning the 2nd year journey of field work in Cajamarca. I can put some puzzle pieces together about what and who Discover Hope is on a side of the organization that was only a mystery to me before. I know this time I have had here in Austin will help me on those long, frustrating and lonely days in Cajamarca. I now know and have met much of the crew that works endlessly here in Austin to make life changing things happen in Cajamara. Thank you for your work and support, if you are reading this, thank you! It takes many pieces, steps and big hearted folks to make things happen.
Maggie and I have also been having a ton of brainstorming sessions during my short time here. It has been so great to fill up my energy battery and know that we will use many of our lessons learned from last year and move forward this year.
Although I know the annoying culture elements that await me in Peru (stinky combi rides, limited hot showers and thousands of potato dishes), I also know that DHF has ideas and passions to support and foster the women that are awaiting us in Peru. I am ready to shake it up and make some things happen. So I will put my left and right foot in and start taking some of those steps.
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