This is the blog post I recently wrote for the Cap Corps Midwest blog. Enjoy!
I remember last February clearly. I was “coffee shop hopping” in Omaha, trying to discern, write, and eventually finish my Cap Corps application. It was a slightly stressful, yet amazingly joyful time in my life. I knew I wanted to volunteer, and I was near certain that I wanted to be with Cap Corps. I remember sitting in class, hearing Shelly talk about the program and the Franciscan spirituality that was the heart of all Cap Corps stood for. I was excited. My friends kept commenting that the program would be perfect for me; that it had all that I was looking for. Which it did. A faith based community and an emphasis on social justice, spirituality and simplicity. I was set. Well, not quite. I was always at odds about whether I wanted to volunteer internationally or domestically. Then I was at odds about whether I really was called to go to Lima. I kept doubting. I kept questioning myself. I wondered if Ciudad de los Niños was the place for me. I thought, “would I get to know the real Perú if I was living in the walled-in city of Ciudad?” When I came to Lima, I found out that all my doubts and reservations could be put to rest. Now, seven months into my time, I am coming to find within Lima, within Ciudad, something that is pulling me.
Lima is a city I have grown to love. Yet, I have no idea why. Last week I was talking with a friend who has spent years in Lima. Asking me why I loved the city, I could not respond with any clear reason, except for the fact that there is something here that moves me, that gives me life, that confuses me, that makes me want to understand more. He could relate. Lima is not the most glamorous of cities. It is a city of 9 million people, settled in a desert, with only two seasons—cold and overcast, or hot with a strong sun. Inequality is a great word to describe it. Sandy Pueblos jovenes are contrasted by pristine parks, paved roads, and gated apartments. The view from my apartment is sand hills filled with haphazardly built houses; one next to another, a constant reminder of the realities of this city and country. Traffic is constant. Ancient cars from the 80’s and 90’s spew fumes out as they make death-defying merges in traffic. Horns sounding. People yelling. Stray dogs barking. Quite the soundtrack. Crime in the city has made people suspicious of one another. An article in a Peruvian newspaper, El Comerico, stated that only 25% of Limanians trust their neighbors. As you can see, glamorous.
But why do I love it? A few ideas have crossed my mind as I have thought about this. One of them is that it is complex and rich in experience. Modern Lima was formed by mass migration from the selva y sierra because of extreme poverty and violence connected to the Shinning Path. People saw Lima in terms of their own survival. They believed that if they came here they would be safe—which was almost true—and that they would find some sort of economic balance. Because of this migration, there is this complexity that has attached itself the life of the city. People came from all parts of the country, bringing with them all that made them who they were. Some of it beautiful, some tragic. A few days ago, I was walking in the market close to Ciudad. While getting dish soap, I started to talk with the shopkeeper, Olga. We started off with simple conversation. “Where are you from?”, “What are you doing in Lima?”. Then she started to open up and tell me her life. She talked as though she was withholding her story, waiting for someone to share it with. It was tragic. She is from Ayacucho, where the Shinning Path was started and focused. The violence from the Shinning Path, and military resistance was centered there. She told me how, 25 years later, she is still traumatized by all that she saw. She said her pain was passed onto her son, who has been ill since he was a child. Her pain is something that is a constant in Lima. She said it best by saying that, from the outside, this pain can be overlooked, but when you talk, a whole world is opened up before you. If I were to just walk by and buy soap from a different stand, I would have thought nothing much of her. She looked happy, energetic. She was in pain. During the weekends, families can come to Ciudad to visit their sons. I see them and I ask to myself, what stories do they hold? What pain, what trauma do they carry with them? People on the street, in the market, riding in the combi; what is their story? Lima is complex, and their stories make it so.
But it is not all pain. There is joy, hope, revival that flows through their veins. They hope for a better life, a better world. A few nights ago, Ryan, Tania, and me were walking back from a mass in a neighboring town, Villa El Salvador, when the group we were with stopped us and led us to a park near by. At the park there was a youth group practicing a traditional Ayacuchan dance. They were there by their own volition. They were interested in the culture of their family. Talking with people over the past few months I have found that they love to talk about where they came from. “In the summer, the fields are deep green. Fruit and olives everywhere.” Religious celebrations are revered. La Candalaria, processions for saints dear to their hearts, devotions. But the beauty is that they talk of their homeland with reverence, but they have found themselves accustomed and settled with Lima. Is that just a way of giving up? Or have they found a home here that they can feel comfortable in? Maybe both are true. Whatever the answer may be, these people have fought for this city to be theirs, and in doing so they have made it their own.
In writing, I still don’t know why I love Lima. Maybe it is because I am in this new “honeymoon” period, started off by finding new friend and religious communities in Lima. But I think, and I hope that there is something more to this. Vamos a ver.
Paz, bien, y amor.
Michael Melaniphy
