I know, I know, I know. Late. But don't rush me! I promise to make it up to you with this quick series of posts: that include photos! Bravisimo!
Friday. 10-9-09
Cesar picks us up and we head Camino de Vida's office. The wheelchairs that we were supposed to be assembling arrived to port late and are further delayed because, as it turns out, Thursday was a national holiday. We won't have the wheelchairs until Tuesday so we'll be tagging along with Irina, the Physical Therapist hired for the study, to do home to home evaluations of potential wheelchair recipients. Then, we'll return to the office, regroup, and come up with a game plan for the rest of the week.
It's early. There's been (as yet) no internet, no plan, no coffee... oh, and it's rush hour.
Let me tell you just a very little bit about traffic in Lima: a figurative crash course on driving in any number of developing countries:
About 2% of the cars on the road are privately owned 'family' vehicles as we understand the term. Taxi drivers own their cars, but that doesn't count for our purposes. There are tons of taxis- an army of battered and beaten Hondas and Nissans with glowing signs. Rust buckets that have never been smogged- EVER. A few companies have standard fleet cars in uniform green or yellow however, much like those cabs that can provide you a receipt for your fare, it's a luxury that will double the cost of transit. So you cross your fingers and hope for the best. The windows need to roll up and the doors need to lock. IF you have those things, you're doing pretty well.
I've not yet made up my mind about seat belts. While American common sense (oxymoron?) tells me to wear one for my safety, I'm also concerned that- when the car inevitably smashes into a bus and goes rolling through lanes of freeway traffic- wearing a seat belt will trap me in the fiery wreckage.
Well, it'd go rolling through lanes of traffic if there were lanes.
Which there aren't.

There are no lanes, and therefore, no signaling to *change* lanes. Because they don't exist. Instead, car horns are used as a means of communication: "I'm behind you" "I'm going to pass you" "Don't change lanes, I'm here in your blind spot with 3 American tourists closing their eyes and holding hands -- all but singing Kumbaya, really-- in the back seat". It is not uncommon to find yourself in a small sedan with a big rig so close, you couldn't open the passenger door to escape should the need arise and a dozen commuter busses cutting one another off while coming up right behind you from an on ramp.
Driving is a big, country-wide game of Chicken and it's not just the drivers and passengers who get to play; the pedestrians join right in!
I'll return to Friday morning for the perfect example: we were merging into an impromptu intersection of semi-trucks, cabs, and public busses packed to capacity with passengers (they slow down near the side of the road, open their doors, and interested parties will run and jump into the moving vehicle, assisted by the passenger nearest the door, who holds his hand out as the van slows, to pull the merry travelers aboard). There was honking, a mass of near side-swiping, cutting off, swerving and then... in a brief moment of cleared traffic:
Jaywalkers. In the middle of the whole thing. Carrying an blanket wrapped infant.
While stopped in bumper to bumper though, somehow, no less reckless traffic, street vendors snake their way between the cars selling fresh fruit and candy and tapping on windows. Yesterday there was a kid juggling right up to the windows of vans and cars, asking for money.
In the interest of time, I'll move ahead.
We arrive, unscathed, to the Camino de Vida offices where we meet the rest of the staff- some of whom I have been emailing for 2 years. This is not the first time I've had this experience: meeting people face to face only after years of developing a connection via email. You know that somewhere, in their own way, these other people are pouring themselves into the work for which you and the people you know care so much... but you have no idea who the "selves" are. Then, suddenly, you do. They're in the same room with you and it's like you always knew them.
Some people thrill seek. Adrenaline junkies who live to almost die. This is my thing, I think... and I'm not sure what to call it, but I don't think it's a feeling that I'll ever tire of.
Irina, Paulo, Lisa, Staci and I jump back into the van and head into city. On the way we acquire Sylvia, a social worker for this particular district of Lima who knows the cases that we will be seeing and has filed the recommendations for wheelchairs.
As I describe our experience going house to house and screening recipients, I'm going to utilize the blog to talk about the experiences. Not so much about the results. While our last visit of the day wasn't fruitful in terms of our study or our mission, the hour that we spent with the family was the take-away expereince of the day. Those are the things I plan to share. But, to start:
First house: locked up. The family was gone for the day, the neighbors informed us. Back on the bus.
Second house: Upon entering, each of us was greeted with a "gracias" and a handshake. The potential recipient had been bedridden for 2 years after being hit by a car. She broke her hip but medical care was too expensive. Ultimately she wouldn't have been able to sit in a wheelchair without intense pain, but we didn't get that far. This old woman- clearly proud- shouted her adult son and our therapists out of her room. I was in the front, examining her existing wheelchair, when the general vibe of "let's go- NOW" carried the lot of us right out the door. The son apologized profusely and we assured him that it was fine. I left feeling worse for him than I did for his righteous mother. The woman knew what she wanted and didn't want. You have to respect that. Helpless she was not.
For our next visits, we park a few blocks away. The streets are closed for a market. We push through browsing shoppers, mototaxis, vendors and stray dogs- at a jog the whole way. I am aware, for the first time, that we attract a hell of a lot of attention.
Booths of fresh produce are torturous- though my angst is minimal compared to the morbid fascination I have with the booths of fresh chicken: plucked and hanging in rows, raw, swarming with flies. At some booths, the heads have been cut off entirely, leaving only a body and feet. At other booths, the head remains with the eyes removed, and an evident slit at the throat.
Third house: 7 year-old Claudia has severe Cerebral Palsy. While the left side of her body is limp and hardly functions, her right side is spastic and uncontrolled. She arches backward using the muscles on the right side of her abdomen, bending into a C shape. Her right leg seems to be a separate entity; it drifts up and back toward her head of its own accord. She is incredibly elastic on this side of her body. Claudia's mother walks around greeting everyone with a handshake and a kiss on the cheek. She picks her daughter up and tours the room, holding her wrist to help her wave to everyone. This girl is precious, with a big sleepy smile and eyes that wander around the room until she locks onto a face- then that grin.
The visit didn't last especially long; Claudia wasn't able to sit and wouldn't have been helped by a wheelchair. If anything, being restrained may have hurt her. The hypertense spasms and lack of control in her little body made it virtually impossible for her to stay in a seated position. We were there for about 45 minutes and by the end, with all of the attention and exercise, she was already trying to roll to the side and fall asleep.
Fourth house: further running through the market to reach this destination a couple blocks away. Ofila is 60 and lives with her daughter. She has gone blind from diabetes and has sores on her legs. With assistance she can manage only about 3 small steps. We are told that she falls and injures herself almost once a month. But she's chatty and sweet, has a decent range of motion available to her with minimal pain in moving and reaching and it seems that we've finally found someone that may truly benefit from our help. Irina holds her hand and explains that she must squeeze as hard as she can: "Fuerte! Fuerte! Fuerte! Mas fuerte!"
Ofeila complies, but is suppressing a giggle fit. She won't ever be able to push herself around, due to her lack of vision, with enough strength she will be able to help propel the chair- a great help to whoever is pushing her.
At the end of the assessment, Ofila's daughter brings out a tray of Inka Kola- I've been waiting for this. I am prepared for what I've been told is one of the most disgustingly sweet beverages on the planet. Saccharine sweet and a yellow color that makes Mountain Dew seem bland. The billboards are everywhere. The grocery store sells 2-packs of 3 Litre bottles and, apparently, it's repulsive.
Okay.
This stuff is delicious.
Very very sweet. No mistake there. And I certainly wouldn't want to drink it at every meal like so many of the locals do- but it's good!! It smells like bubble gum and tastes like Red Bull Kola... but without keeping you up for hours. I will absolutely stand by my defense of this beverage. Viva la Inka Kola!
The last visit is to a house further up in the hills. Junelly is 18 years old and was hit by a car when she was 12. She and her family continue to feel the effects of this injury. When we arrive, it is clear that Jinelly will not benefit from one of our wheelchairs. She is already in a chair to begin with- and it is better suited to her than ours would be. But the family starts showing us photo albums and serves Coke and tells us about her accident and the therapies they've invested in to try to help their daughter. She is the only child.
Her mother is very proud of her and seems to have an endless supply of photo albums, documenting her injury-free childhood, her hospital stay, therapies afterward-- Junelly is giving a thumbs-up in almost every. single. picture. It's her thing.
Her father-- I don't know that words can describe how utterly crazy this man is about his little girl. Sylvia, the social worker, explains to us that he makes and invents everything for her. He goes to work all day and then comes home to work on projects to make her life easier. The table top that fits snugly on top of her current wheelchair- devices and contraptions that are just off the wall.
My favorite was the dress he built for her Quince Anos (Latin celebration of Sweet 15)- a large hoop skirt to allow room for a rolling walker. Junelly had her full procession for the church service, stood by her cake, danced with her relatives. They have nothing but they give EVERYTHING for her.
Junelly tells us that she wants to get married. She really really likes my hair. We take pictures.
Irina heads back to the office while we grab lunch with Paulo. My first full day in Peru includes lunch in a mall food court. Chinese food (which actually DOES have a place here. There are very prevalent Chinese influences in Peruvian cuisine. A history lesson for another day).
We return to Camino de Vida. Formulate a plan for the upcoming week and discuss the pertinent needs for the next couple of days until we all meet again.
("How do you say politely in Spanish 'my room smells like mothballs' ?")
Watched Star Wars Ep. 1 in English with Spanish subtitles. I may not be able to manage my way around the Ecuadorian consulate, Vanessa, but I *will* be able to quote pivotal pieces of pop culture. (*No one puts baby in the corner*)
We may have had dinner. I don't really remember. I think I passed out.