Fires and Forts

There are so many new smells to get used to here. The other night, I woke up to the smell of smoke. It reminded me of being in a non-smoking hotel when your neighbor is smoking in their room. I buried my head in my shirt to fall back asleep. This happened several more times, and I didn’t check the clock. The next day, I asked Leifer if he had smelled smoke. He said no. It smelled like cigarettes to me. The very next night, I smelled the smoke again. This time, we were still awake. “Leifer, it’s that smell. You smell the smoke now, right?” He nodded yes and walked out the door. He could see smoke billowing from over the wall. “The neighbors are cooking. It’s late for cooking,” he said as he walked back into our room. He shut our bedroom windows. The rain comes at night, which may be why we didn’t notice it sooner.

Much of the cooking is done over a fire. Abuelita cooks lunch, the main meal of the day, over the fire. It cooks slowly, she told me. Abuelita has a gas stove in the kitchen, but it is used mostly to reheat food. Our clothes smell of smoke once the day is winding down. Cooking over a fire for many years hasn’t done Abuelita’s lungs any favors, but the flavor of the food is richer. Cooking is a process. When I try to pay attention, I still miss several steps because the preparation happens over several hours, with other chores being done in between.

Lunch was Puchero. It was slow-cooked cabbage with pork and other herbs. We ate it with rice and potatoes. I told Abuelita that my Irish ancestors subsisted on cabbage and potatoes, but give me Puchero over corned beef and cabbage any day. The food here is absolutely delicious. Lunch is always two courses: primero y segundo, a soup followed by a main dish. After lunch, we each drink a short glass of Coca-Cola or, sometimes, Inca Cola. Inca Cola is sweet, almost sickeningly so, and has a bright highlighter-yellow color. It looks like it could power a lawnmower.

Another chicken was lethargic this morning, and the outlook seems bleak. "Diez y seis pollitos," Abuelita tells me. Sixteen chickens? Is that how many we started with, or how many we've lost? They had put the chickens out of the casita yesterday, and I assumed the prognosis was good. Now it seems we are not out of the woods. It must be a virus. I read that bird flu is very contagious for other animals and deadly for cats. “Pirata,” who lives in the casita, is fine, so I don’t think it’s bird flu. Pirata is not his actual name, but Abuelita tells me he likes to start fights over the lady gatitas. He came home the other night with a bloody nose and eye. They want to spay him. Who would do that? Leifer thinks Abuelito. I know there is a vet in nearby Carhuaz. All the animals in the casita are treated exceptionally well. While Abuelita cooks our big lunch for the day, there’s a much larger pot over the flame with food for the chonchos (pigs). The animals eat what we eat.

We walked to school today—Leif, Enzo, and me. We save money by walking, and it’s a 15-minute walk. I’m on alert while we are on the main road, but once we get to town and turn onto a side street, we collectively relax. The boys start running down the street, and I let them move more freely. “Hola, buenos días,” we heard a small voice behind us. We turned, and Leif told me she’s a friend in his class. All of Leif’s classmates are friends, but when I ask him what her name is, I get the same answer: "I don’t know." In America, he knew all his classmates’ names. I think his American teachers placed more emphasis on it. I walked Leif into class, and he ran up to the professora and hugged her. He grabbed a recorder and started playing. I walked out and took Enzo to his class. His class has a much different feel. The kids are younger and much more attached to their mothers. They mostly play with their moms. We moms stay for the first 30 minutes. The professora takes attendance, calling out last names first, then first and middle names. “Presente,” each kid says when they hear their names.

As I walked home, I passed by the high school. Today, I saw Tim! Except his name is Finn. “Hi,” I said as I ran over to him. "Where are you from?" "The UK," he replied. He works for the Peace Corps and has been here for the last 18 months. He works part-time at the health clinic, helping to decrease malnutrition in kids. He also spends time at the high school educating students on mental health and safe sex. There are too many cases of teen pregnancy here. I invited him to come over soon—I want to befriend him. Finn will be here till December, and I know the boys will be excited to meet him. I told him we live just up around the curve. We exchanged numbers, and I promised to text him once I got home. I can’t help but think that the health clinic could be the way to share books with the community. Back home, my boys get a free book each time they have a health clinic visit.

Leifer finished the bed for Lucca. We had one side that still needed to be closed off. Brilliantly, Leifer moved the headboard of our big bed up against the last open side and closed it off. Now, Lucca has four walls around his bed—two are the bedroom walls, and the other two are headboards. The boys see Lucca’s “crib” as a fort. It’s now a nice little spot to be tucked away.

Both Enzo and Lucca are still suffering from diarrhea. We got a call from school today: Enzo needed clean clothes. I worry about whether my kids are getting enough food, and the right food. We have healthy food here, but they pick and choose what to eat. When the baby eats cheese, he gets red spots around his eyes. I wonder if I will need to bring them back to the U.S. for the sake of their bellies. Their energy is still good, so I’m hopeful it’s part of adjusting, and they will be better soon.