Matt sends back a quote from 'Men of Salt' about the country of Mali, saying, "I think it describes well the feelings we have for a place like Peru. The author says this upon his arrival after discussing how Mali is the 4th poorest country in the world and 25% of children die before age 5: 'But I also quickly realized that it's the type of country in which I like best to travel: one in which much of daily life takes place outside; where things function with no concern for liability lawsuits; where the local version of order closely resembles the Western notion of chaos; and where poverty does not equal shame, partly because so many people are poor, partly because riches don't increase one's status in the eyes of Allah.
The cacophonous, colorful markets; the sense of solidarity that forms among passengers crammed together in the back of a battered pickup truck that sputters like a wounded turtle along rutted roads; the groups of men arranging prayer mats on the sidewalks at sunset, kneeling and casting long shadows before them as the calls of the muezzins roll from minarets; even the littered streets and putrid gutters that are a regular feature of towns in the developing world—all these reminded me of other places I'd been, other places I'd loved. I felt an instant fondness for the country, a sense of homecoming, though I'd never been there before.' [Rachel, ] It sounds like you could have said those words, no?" I couldnt have said it better myself.
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So what happened to me in Peru? I suspect that will take years to find out. I feel something changed in me, the way you feel a little difference, a tiny special space inside carved out for the one you love. But I am not sure what is in that space quite yet.
What did I do there – I learned a new language. I met people whose entire lives were completely different than mine; and I loved them. I saw mountain deserts, jungle, dances and costumes and traditions and dresses, and lots of different hats. I took some quiet time to think about myself, about what is important to me, about medicine and my future in it.
I think that is one thing about living in a country so poor; it sets in contrast the richness, in a sparkling clarity, and you turn those lenses on your own life. Here, family is number one, and friends and community are considered like family. Children are born without planning or worry about schedules or work or money, and welcomed with celebration. They are celebrated with parks to play in, colorfully painted, with attention and care to their education in music, art, tradition, as well as trying to prepare them for the future with English and Spanish. This value is in contrast to the orphanages in nearly every town – most children in there places have parents still but who cannot support them. But it does make the worry that we upper and middle class Americans (myself included) spend on how to fit a child into our schedules and budgets seem somewhat silly.
Kids here are adorable. Not because of their wind-chapped cheeks or dark inquiring eyes, but because of their fearlessness, their joy at simple things, their interest in the world around them. Cared for by mom, sister, friends, and occasionally dad or brothers, children grow up with no separation anxiety, no fear of strangers. The fact that parents work long hours and are gone often is an accepted reality, and that space is filled with friends, loving community members, grandparents. Many never really get to see themselves in a mirror and move with that total lack of self-conciousness that children in the US now lose so quickly. Its somewhat heartbreaking though to see such beautiful bright children with no future – for the poor mountain children, the odds are that they will be plowing fields, selling trinkets on the side of the road, weaving, and dreaming of a better life from now through old age. Given the opportunity, these children could change their situations, their country, their world. (As a side-note, I was saying to Avi the other day, the US does not have the monopoly on happiness, or health, or family life, but it sure does on opportunity. If you want to do something, make something of yourself, improve your life or the life of others, this is your platform. If you have other priorities, there are other countries which can better foster those aspirations; in fact, its difficult to have simpler priorities in America – Ill come back to this).
Ill tell you what I havent seen very much value for: ambition, titles, the professional climb. Of course it exists in modern cities, but very little in the countryside where I have been living. Its just so far down the list of important things, after the people you love, working hard to earn your keep, respect and knowledge of your traditions and culture, living well with good food, good drink, beautiful places. Probably Peru could use a little more ambition, maybe, to pull up the standard of living, but with most ambitious people acting corruptly in the political positions, you can understand the distrust of that sentiment. More than ever it makes me want to get off the wheel of climbing from better to better position, and just do what I want to do with time to appreciate all the things that are more important than work. On the other hand, Ive never seen any people work as hard as the Peurvians, much of it incredibly physical manual labor, and it reminds me how important is this value.
I think some of this different value system I wove into myself. I find myself hurrying less, and spending more time appreciating people. In the lab where I have started work, the slow pace of mixing reagents and running gels – something that has driven me to distraction of frustration in the past – is now a pleasure. It gives me time to talk to the people around me, smell the acrid chemicals, watch the stream formations rise off the liquid nitrogen, just be and wait. I dont look at the clock as much, since Im trying not to rush anywhere, but rather to just be present where I am. Checking off career boxes is less important to me now; I dont care much if I publish or accomplish or what will look best on my resume. Id rather read, learn whatever is being offered, and enjoy the experience.
Not that this is all a sudden change because of three months abroad, rather, I have been looking to get off the wheel, but didnt know how to mentally do so. My friends in Peru showed me how; they modeled for me what a life would look like without ascent and achievement as central pillars. As it turns out, its not empty or lazy at all, but filled with a labor of love for family and community. A slower, more mundane, and less recognized labor to be sure, but one that is filled with quiet personal meaning.
Will it last? Hard to say if this is the kind of change you can't take back, or if it will fade to a memory as I step back on the wheel and am enticed by the glittering opportunities that only the great USA could offer. It is tough even now for me to decide if, being born with such privilege, it is my obligation to trade in some of my happiness for the service of humanity (excuse the haute terminology, but that is what it is), or whether stepping back and just being present day to day, dancing at friends weddings and crying at their funerals, connecting with people and trying to do what I can at little junctions to help them out, maybe this is enough. I guess this is in the end what Peru offered; another way of life, another outlook and mindset. Not knowing how this will play out in the rest of my life, I have to leave this ending open-ended; I for one have little more healthy uncertainty – the kind that turns philosophies from black and white to shades of grey to – in the case of Peru – an explosion of color.
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