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“I Wish I’d Kept a Diary!”

HOW many times I’ve said that to myself in the 14 years I’ve been a missionary in Peru.

I well remember my first year here​—a rat in the toilet bowl, a scorpion in the bathtub, fleas in my bed. Happily, most of the animals knew their proper place, and we shortly became adjusted to what has proved to be a very interesting life.

LEARNING A LANGUAGE. I remember hearing little children incorrectly saying their irregular Spanish verbs, and thinking, to my own satisfaction, “Well, then, we’re not the only ones!”

WHEN THE EARTH QUAKES. A new experience for me was an earthquake. The one I remember most vividly occurred in 1974. My partner and I were in an old adobe house at the end of a narrow passageway. When the shaking started, all three of us chose what refuge the doorway might offer. It was two and a half feet wide, but, unfortunately, so was the lady of the house! Since she filled the doorway, we were able only to poke our heads under the door frame. We were glad nothing fell down on us.

PERSONAL APPEARANCE. I was impressed with the interest Latin people took in their appearance in public​—no hair rollers and shorts for them. Of course, looking your very best costs money; not all have the means. I’ll never forget a middle-aged man I saw on the bus one day. I kept thinking to myself, ‘There is something strange about that man’s hair.’ Apparently it was not strange to him, because he had a most satisfied expression on his face. Finally I was maneuvered by the flow of passengers to his side, elbow to elbow, and could see that his dull hair was really black shoe polish painted all over the top of his bald head!

THEIR ANIMALS. Who is not fond of animals? Since many Peruvians have rural backgrounds, you can find a rabbit hutch, chicken coop or guinea-pig pen on top of almost any roof or in the back patio of the homes in the city. One day when I was conversing with a heavy-set woman in a small grocery store I commented that I kept hearing baby chicks but I couldn’t see them. Where did she keep them? Very proudly she dipped her hand into her ample bosom and pulled out two chicks. She explained with a smile that she was keeping them warm.

BEING OPEN-MINDED ABOUT FOOD. It is important to get to know new customs, foods and habits and be open-minded about them. Raw sea urchin anybody? Or perhaps sheep’s teeth soup, or sheep’s testicles in onions and lemon. Actually most of the food is not that exotic. But Peru stands out in all of Latin America in the taste and variety of its dishes. One popular dish is called ocopa​—boiled potatoes with a cream sauce made of ground, toasted nuts, hot peppers, fresh cheese and spices. Delicious!

Some North Americans come to Latin America and start longing for their plums, apricots, raspberries, cherries and other temperate-climate produce. But once they return to their original country they remember with the same longing the fresh sweet pineapples, the abundant pink and orange papayas, juicy mangoes, buttery avocados, and a variety of fresh vegetables the year around. No need for canning and freezing here!

DANCING STYLE FOR EVERY TASTE. Peruvians love to dance. I almost wonder if one of their many genes isn’t called rhythm. From the time that children start to toddle they start jiggling out their musical feelings, and advanced years don’t slow them down. At any get-together the oldsters are having as good a time as the young. And there is a dancing style for any taste: the fast-paced paso-doble, the sociable Peruvian waltz, a salsa or cumbia, or the foot-stomping huayno, or mountain music. And it makes people happy to see you have learned something of their music, to dance to or sing.

On one occasion I was visiting a humble family at their little farm house, and after our Bible study they decided they wanted me to dance a huayno, accompanied by their portable record player. But it was to be authentic. So they brought out a long Indian skirt, then a cloak for my shoulders and a big hat. Not content with my appearance, they poked two black braids made of horse hair under the brim of my hat and then I proceeded to dance and stomp away. The effect was uncontrolled laughter; they laughed until their legs gave way and they had to sit down. When I first met them they had been so shy, and it made me happy that by my enjoying their customs we were drawn closer. How much more so when a good number of this family became baptized witnesses of Jehovah!

A LESSON FROM THE POOR. After living in a country where everyone buys things in large quantities, I was very surprised to observe the buying habits of the very poor, and appreciated their thrift. Buying six bobby pins at a time, 100 grams of flour or salt or coffee, one egg, one cup of oil. No throwing away of paper bags and old newspapers; they have a thousand uses before they wear out. Riding your own bicycle or tricycle, roller-skating, taking music or swimming lessons, checking a book out of the library​—these are simple pleasures that millions of children never enjoy.

How many children never go to school because their parents can’t afford to send them, or they go with empty stomachs, which makes learning very hard! Others have to learn standing up as there are not enough desks to go around. I recall one family where the daughter wore her black leather shoes to school in the morning, and her brother put them on in the afternoon when he went to class. Of course, some don’t even possess a pair of shoes.

People are not concerned with having the latest model; they are just happy to possess something of value to them, and through ingenuity it is repaired over and over again. How much I took for granted as a child!

THE THRILLS OF TRAVEL. Travel was sometimes a hair-raising affair. Our most memorable trip took place nine years ago. It began at 5 p.m. After the bus was filled, we went to a service station to get gas. (Such a stop also afforded the latecomers the opportunity to catch up with the bus before it left town.) As we proceeded out of town the driver stopped from time to time to add more passengers, who would sit in the aisle. The woman who plopped down beside me on a wooden stool happened to be insane; she was being escorted to her village by a policeman. She made an unnerving traveling companion. A couple of hours later she was escorted off the bus, and we arrived at the police control station. Here all southbound traffic waits until midnight for the northbound traffic to arrive. The road is so narrow that it cannot handle two-way traffic.

At midnight we were off, winding around the Andean mountains, but shortly came upon a slow-moving northbound truck. Both vehicles tried to take a curve at the same time. The truck scraped our bus and started to tilt us off the edge of the road, over the precipice. Somewhere in the dark below us, we could hear the roar of the Mantaro River. The copilot was outside assuring the driver that the edge of the road would hold the weight of the bus. Some of the passengers pleaded to get off the bus, but the driver told everybody to stay seated. Evidently he wanted us to serve as ballast. Somehow both vehicles managed to negotiate the curve, and we were on our way again.

A couple of hours later we came upon a line of trucks and cars held up by a landslide. We got in line behind them for a long wait​—six hours to be exact. When the roadblock was finally cleared, it was every driver for himself, each wanting to regain lost time and be first on the highway, so we were in for several more hours of frantic driving and braking. The distance between our home, Huancayo, and our destination, Ayacucho, is only 350 km (220 miles) but it took us 16 hours.

We were so relieved to arrive safely that we never dreamed our return would be even worse. But I’ll spare you that experience.

Yes, I have vivid memories of life in the mountains, the smell of eucalyptus trees in the crisp mountain air, petting baby alpacas, the sound of haunting Indian melodies, cultivated slopes of brown and green and gold on the tops of the mountains. And along the way, street riots, curfews and gunshots in the night, tropical illnesses, laughing at our mistakes in Spanish, dearest of friends and sad farewells, and, most importantly, so many faith-strengthening blessings from Jehovah as we shared with others the good news of his Kingdom. These memories ebb and flow in my mind like the ceaseless tide. But other events and impressions have vanished in the recesses of my mind. That’s why I say, a little sadly, “I wish I’d kept a diary!”​—Contributed.