Buen Viaje

no. 26

Enzo wrapped his arms around Abuelita, signaling how comfortable he’s become with her. He was eager to go to school that day. When Leif protested, Enzo reassured him, “I will go with you, Leif.”

In the book I’m reading, turtles are a symbol of change that happens slowly and steadily over time. After three months here, I’m beginning to see bright moments—small signs that Enzo is easing into life in Peru. I want to give him more time. My heart aches knowing we’re about to leave, pressing pause on all the progress we’ve made.

On our second-to-last day at the casita, Abuelita made puchero—a giant pot of cabbage, pork, rice, and herbs. It’s one of my favorite meals she makes, though I think I say that about everything she cooks. While Aida chopped vegetables, Lucca tossed the scraps into a bin. When it was full, we carried it to the cuys (guinea pigs). Nothing goes to waste here—scraps feed the cuys, the pigs, Monserot, or Gringo, the always-hungry cat.

On our final morning, Abuelito woke up early to light the fire in the outdoor clay oven. At last, it was bread-making day. Leif helped sift the trigo (wheat), removing the coarse bits. The dough was prepared in large buckets, and Abuelita made several types of bread. I regret not paying closer attention or asking more questions. The first bread to come out of the oven was mine—still too hot to hold, but I love it that way. Lucca and I devoured two big pieces. Abuelita used fat from her pigs to coat the loaves before baking. Leifer manned the oven, standing five feet back from the heat.

We packed for Lima. I wanted to travel light, knowing I’d be handling three boys on my own. But I also knew that Abuelita would have items to send with us for the Lima family—bread, avocados, pork, tocosh, potatoes, and corn. Tocosh is a probiotic made from fermented potatoes or corn. I usually enjoy fermented foods, but I haven’t dared try tocosh—the smell is too overpowering. I joked with Leifer that he’s become Abuelita’s burro, carrying things from Mancos to Lima.

As we walked out the door, my heart felt heavy. “Tranquilo,” Abuelita reminded me. I checked my email again, hoping for a last-minute miracle. I told Leifer that when I married him, I never imagined we’d be apart like this. I didn’t want him to feel guilty—only to understand the tears in my eyes.

I hugged Aida first, feeling the emotion rising in her. As I began to pull away, she pulled me back in. Then I embraced Abuelita. I hated to leave her. I had begged her to come with us, but she won’t leave Abuelito, and he won’t go to the U.S.

As we passed through the rolling green hills on the way to Lima, I couldn’t help but think of the von Trapp family in The Sound of Music, walking away from their home to stay together. I imagined us doing the same—loading the kids and a tent into a car, driving around Peru, transient and displaced.

I wonder how much has changed in these three months. We've had new experiences and been embraced by family here. My fears and uncertainties have evolved as we've grown to understand our situation more clearly.

Before we left the U.S., Leifer’s older brother Mauro encouraged us to raise animals. “Get yourselves some cows, pigs, or sheep,” he said. I often watch the sheep herders and wonder about their lives. Would it bring us the peace and simplicity that Abuelita wants for us?

As we left the mountains and the land flattened, a thick fog settled over everything. It was so dense I wasn’t sure if it was fog or smog. The seasons had shifted while we were away. There’s a cold dampness now that clings to clothes and keeps laundry from drying on the line.

On Sunday, Leifer’s sisters and their families came over for a meal together. We ordered takeout—Chifa, Peru’s version of Chinese food. I had a tajine and chafa combination (noodles and fried rice) and wonton soup. We’ve had so many warm meals around this table, filling our bellies and easing the loneliness. Though I’m not Peruvian, the way Leifer’s family hugs me tells me I belong.

Tomorrow, the boys and I will say, hasta luego to Peru. Friends and family have written letters and emails for us. I’ve written to the Attorney General and to reporters. I won’t be idle when I return home—I have to keep fighting to bring Leifer back.

Next time I write, it will be from the United States.

Buen viaje.