No one knew that he was dead. He sat upright against the wall for support, his head hanging forward in a resting position. He had been robbed of everything after exiting a nightclub in Huancayo and they left him there, probably imagining that he’d wake up from his drunken stupor. He didn’t. Instead, he died of hypothermia from a cold Andes night.
People have become numb to drunken men sleeping on the streets of downtown Huancayo.No one helped because it looked like he was just sleeping and it’s not uncommon to find a sleeping, drunk man on a street of Huancayo. We have become desensitized to the sight.
The “bystander effect” states that we are less likely to help someone in trouble if we’re part of a larger crowd. “I’m sure that the other guy will help,” we tend to think. Then, no one does. There are victims.
What have you become desensitized to? Please inspire us by sharing about someone you recently helped who may have been ignored by society.
Aside from collecting rent and ignoring all that needs to be fixed in the building, our landlady believes that her role also entails encouraging and producing gossip. This task occupies her time while her husband is away for most of the year, working a mystery job in Northern Peru. This may explain why the gentleman who lives in front of our building is one of our landlady’s favorite targets. Apparently, the man is in love with her but shows his affection in odd ways as they maintain a distant love-hate relationship. He enjoys throwing water on the patio when her son is playing and leaving his sweepings in front of her door. She enjoys knocking on his door to complain.
The landlady set up a little fence at the end of our hallway to keep the dogs out. They just jump over it.When she knocks on our door to chat, we know she wants to gossip about the girl who lives in the apartment beside ours. We call her the “charapa” (a standard nickname for Peruvians from the rainforest) and the landlady likes to get updated on what she’s been up to. The charapa’s apartment and ours was originally constructed as one unit and the thin wall that now separates us never ceases to present opportunities for unintentional eavesdropping. She’s the wild child of the apartment family, disappearing for a couple months without paying rent or letting the landlady know, introducing her boyfriend as her brother, having random men leave her apartment in the wee hours of the morning and going clubbing on Sundays.
The landlady's three dogs overrun the roof.The one door the landlady ignores is of the stout lady (henceforth, Mrs. Stout) who lives on the second floor. It’s only been three months, but they’ve already developed an intense rivalry and the landlady can’t wait to get rid of her. The reasons accumulate:
Strike 1: Mrs. Stout hosts a lot of loud, drunken parties with guests always overflowing into the hallways.
Strike 2: Mrs. Stout throws garbage down her sink, which empties out right by the landlady’s door.
Strike 3: Mrs. Stout’s dog lives outside of her apartment and he often does his business in front of others’ doors on all three floors.
It’s silly to see how the two ladies greet everyone but each other, how Mrs. Stout will shake out her doormat on the public stairs and how the landlady will let her own three dogs out to cause havoc with Mrs. Stout’s little mutt.
I wonder what the landlady says about me.
I’d love to hear about a character who lives in your apartment or neighborhood! =)
When 12-year-old Juliana is belted by her step-father 27 times, it’s the last straw; she escapes from the abusive situation and hits the streets. And so begins a tale of courage and resilience in Lima, Peru.
Juliana disguises herself as a boy to work on the hard streets of Lima, Peru.
“Juliana” is one of Peru’s timeless classics, brought to screen by Grupo Chaski. Humbly winning over ten international film awards, “Juliana” tells the story of a spirited young girl who takes life into her own hands. She disguises herself as a boy to join a motley crew of talented kids who make money by entertaining in the streets.
The Afro-Peruvian boys from the coast work together — one plays the cajón (a percussion instrument that looks like a box) while the other dances. The boy from the rainforest uses a tin can as a mini drum and güiro, making rhythm by sliding over the side with a stick. He sings on micros (large combis) while another kid collects money from passengers. Other children have turned into thieves.
The street gang is led by the wily Don Pedro. He gives the boys pointers on how to look poor, takes them to the beach and tells them crazy stories, provides them with shelter and feeds them. Unfortunately, he’s also prone to mood swings and demands that each child bring in a certain amount of money each day. Any child who doesn’t make enough suffers Don Pedro’s wrath behind closed doors.
In a Peruvian cemetery, coffins are inserted into cubicles above the ground and children help you carry up and water your flowers.The beauty of “Juliana” is that it imparts snapshots of Limeño life in the 80s that ring true even to the present day. I still see the same types of characters and events:
The widowed mother puts up with her new partner’s abuse because she’s afraid of loneliness.
An evil, beer-bellied step-father represents Peru’s machismo culture. He’s a drunkard who orders his family members around like servants.
Juliana works at the ancient Presbítero Maestro, the oldest cemetery in Lima, inaugurated in 1808. She converses with the dead as she cleans their tombs and waters their flowers.
Juliana chases down and fights with some kids who rob her.
In their free time, all the kids who work in the cemetery play soccer amidst the tombs.
Juliana will inspire you to never lose your spirit, especially when life gets rough. She will show you what it means to be creative because sometimes creativity is exactly what’s needed to make the best of a bad situation, to find your way and to survive. You can watch “Juliana” in Spanish on YouTube.
The thunderstorm is furious. Every flash of lightning has me cringing in anticipation of the accompanying roar of thunder. The fear is both in the anticipation of the sound and in the knowledge that something, someone was potentially hit. They say that you can measure the distance of a lightning bolt by counting the seconds between the flash of lightning and the sound of thunder. One could have hit my neighbour.
Houses made out of adobe are susceptible to collapsing under heavy rains.
As I’ve learned, any electronic device plugged in to an outlet is susceptible to exploding if a lightning bolt heads your way. It doesn’t help that many buildings are in various states of incompleteness, with long protruding metal bars for the possibility of constructing another floor. The poles reach into the sky, seeking communication with the jagged stretches of light. People are also at risk of being electrocuted by lightning bolts. There are various cases in the Mantaro Valley of electrocuted farmers; they are standing in the middle of their farmland with cell phone in hand.
Intense stormy weather, torrential rains and spurts of hail are typical in the Central Andes. They are also typically unpredictable. It can be deathly sunny all day, and then the clouds roll in within minutes. I’ve gotten into the habit of carrying around a portable umbrella. Most people don’t. I think it has to do with the I’ll-take-it-as-it-comes attitude to life that I admire but have a hard time adopting.
As the claps of thunder die down, I feel cozy in my apartment as I listen to the rhythm of the heavy rain. I don’t mind it so much without the shocking, angry thunder. I wonder and worry about the thousands of people who live in adobe clay residences. They must dread the thundershowers when it means water dripping (or cascading) into their homes, muddy floors and wet collapsable walls. I take a look at the brick walls of my apartment and feel safe, until I notice droplets of water on the ceiling. I guess I didn’t ask for this to be easy.
