Survival of the Fittest

In rural Peru, there can be a certain direness surrounding food, virtually unknown to middle-class Americans like myself. Sacks of rice and sugar and bottles of oil serve as the main weapons in the fight against hunger and deprevation in the households in Tumbes where I live. The poverty there, of course, defies definitions of urban poverty. Every family has their plot of land and benefits from its harvest - plantains, lemons, oranges, yuca, and beans. In this sense, we would hesitate to call them poor. Still, their diet lacks variety and primarily consists of complex carbohydrates like rice that are made to make them feel full, even when lacking in basic nutrients.

The word malcriada, essentially "malnourished" or "thin" and "lacking in nutrients" resonates out of every household occupied by children. Their parents use it constantly to criticise them from being naughty or bad. The degree to which the parents molest their children with this term, connecting undesirable behavior and food, seemed odd to me.

Even more strange was how my host mother took issues surrounding food to the extreme. This not only showed up in how she raised her children, but also how she dealt with animals. When I brought a puppy home, it caused a great deal of silent contention in the house. I heard that my host mother kicked my dog when I was not there. When I started buying dog food on a regular basis the situation improved. One day, while carrying eggs home from across town, the bag slipped just as I approached the house. Not desiring to let the valuable protein go to waste, I decided to give the broken eggs to my dog. When my host mother walked in to see the dog eating them, she got extremely upset, saying that now the dog would try to eat her chickens´ eggs. I assured her that this would not happen, but she would not listen. She holds particular beliefs that she insists upon, no matter what, including how cats will not eat mice if given affection. When we got a kitten one day, the pattern began - every time one of us picked up the cat she would yell at us. I learned to pet the cat in secret defiance of her irrational claim. She won in the end though. This week, after finding the cat eating the left over chicken from lunch, she took a rope, tied it around the kittens neck, and hung it in a tree. When I found out, I was horrified and confused at why anyone would go to such barbaric lengths over a few pieces of chicken.

In our house, I buy the chicken, and usually the rice, oil, vegetables, and tuna, as well. Food is the only currency which my host family accepts. I pay out of my monthly allowance. I also buy items like the gas that we cook with, but according to a friend, that does not matter to the people in the house. They don´t mind cooking with firewood. What they don´t like is not having anything to cook, especially when they feel obligated to feed a foreigner, like myself, who arrived with different experiences and expectations of food.

Gran Evento Turistico

One of the main emphases of my work in Rica Playa is to promote tourism. September 23, the first day of spring here, is one of the most important days for visitors to the park. Bus loads of school kids arrive in numbers. Last year, about 300 arrived, or in terms of buses, about nine of them. This year, tourism took on a different flavor and the people in town organized a beach party that included a DJ, beer, typical foods (duck or goat meat with rice), boat rides, horse rides, and swimming. They put a lot of effort into it, including meeting after meeting and even a town clean-up to make a good impression on the visitors. Too bad most of the people at the party were locals. The main flaw, in my perspective, was the lack of advertising to a diverse audience. Visitors would willingly come from Tumbes if they new what was in store for them when they came. In the end, the only group to come from a distance, besides the school buses that came, were the DJs. They left less-than-satisfied with the event though - for due reason. The people in my town had road blocked the exit from the beach so that they could not leave. They were upset because the DJs finished playing an hour before stated in their contract. Glass bottles were thrown (as often happens at the end of Peruvian parties) and the drunk locals stumbled home complaining about how the party was feo because it had ended early.

Los Muertos

"You have heard that some people see the dead, right?" inquired my friend Omar. I humored him, as he went on to describe how mules also herald this supernatural ability. They, unlike horses, get spooked when they see los muertos walking about and shift their direction to avoid any unpleasant encounters.

I have never seen the dead, but I helped my host brother, Adrian gather these flowers for the ghost of his great-grandmother. She was said to have approached my host mom, Nohelia, one night in the form of a cold wind, sending chills through her spine as she sat on her bed holding her new baby tightly. Nohelia had not complied with a promise she had made to always bring flowers to her grandmother`s grave on her birthday. The flowers I found in and near the family plot began the day beautifully but wilted before being properly delivered to the cemetary. I do not know if the host of the great-grandmother has come back.