Whether or not we pay attention to the Peruvians, they pay attention to us. I understood this when, out of the blue, Villa asked me why gringos like 'papas fritas' so much, and then he added, 'with lots of ketchup.' I couldn't offer a reasonable explanation (I could only laugh), but he helped me by saying gringos like french fries the way Peruvians like rice. It is a legitimate comparison. How funny that he would notice such a detail. I wonder what else he and many other Peruvians have noticed but not had the nerve to ask about.
At this point I have said my good-byes and begun the process of getting back to the States. The term 'gut-wrenching' pales in comparison to what I'm feeling. When I had the last of my things packed that are actually coming home with me, I walked into the kitchen to see Villa and Maria sitting outside in my rocking chairs while Ina fussed at the children for something or other. I had taken the time to fix my hair and put on a little make-up (something I rarely do there) and the first thing Villa said was, "en ingles, 'You are beautiful.'" I immediately burst into tears, not because of the sentiment, but because he said it in English then looked away. Maria and Ina cried with me; Villa wouldn't look at me because pools were beginning to collect in his eyes, and the macho in him wouldn't actually let him shed a tear (especially after asking me a few days earlier why women cry so much - another question for which I had no reasonable explanation). Minutes later the four of us and a slew of kids stood on the street corner just outside the Jardin gate saying how much we love each other and promising that the time would go by fast and soon it would be time for me to return.
I wish I could say I was able to collect myself after the motokar pulled away, but I would be lying. Maria insisted on accompanying me to the airport, which only made walking through the security gate that much harder. The whole crowd of people just stared at us - two women sobbing almost hysterically, holding onto each other for dear life. Everything in me wanted to tear up my boarding pass, turn around, get back in the motokar with her, and go straight back to the house. But it was not to be - this time…
The plane took off and I could barely see the jungle through my tears. I was leaving home.
Now, in transit, I want to go back home - not to my house in the States, but to the home I just left. I said in an earlier blog that the fear of moving to Iquitos to live and work was gone - that feeling was reaffirmed through my departure. I left most of my possessions at the Jardin. The only things I am bringing home are clothes. Somehow it creates a tangible connection to know that my personal stuff is still there, waiting for me when I get home again for my brief visit in November. Now I begin the process of praying and waiting for God to open the final doors for my move, as I know all too well that if I try to make things happen in my time rather than His, nothing good will come of it. I pray that He will move me soon.
For now, if I can't be in the jungle, I just want to hurry up and be in S.C. again. And I look forward to hugging and kissing my mom at the end of my journey...
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