Trying to be “Sincere Outsiders” May 9, 2025
This
specific blog is a result of many drafts/attempts to express what has
been a decades-long struggle between faith, ethics, and politics
while living outside of North America.
There’s
a general sense of gravity that is built into growing up into
adulthood in the same town and even region of the world (for me
specifically in Cambrian Park/San Jose, California). It’s
demonstrated in a pre-disposed cultural perspective and comportment
one carries. O’Henry novels talk about button-holing a “newbie
country-bumpkin” on the streets of New York within seconds of
recently landing from somewhere like Oklahoma: The look, the manner –
the dress stood out, at least back then. Similarly “gringos” in the
mountains of Peru stand out almost as clearly as, say, Mennonites in
Mexico or Costa Rica (and God bless, by the way, the Mennonite Cheese
of Mexico… yum!). This “plain-view” from the outside is almost
as obvious as the Bruce Willis character in “Die Hard with a
Vengeance” (1995) walking down the streets of Harlem butt-naked
wearing only a sandwich board reading, “I hate N----rs!” We may
THINK we are trying to blend in, but OH NO! Not only that but our
presence unwittingly exudes a certain arrogance and, dare I say,
class position, which especially sets-off the Andean farmer.
Spoiler:
We can try to deny this (ie., that which is obvious to everyone else
around us) or instead, try to relax and be ourselves within the
rubrics of and mercy given, in that culture. This would require a
trained stamina as well as an astute use of the Serrano culture and
Spanish language mixed as well with many Quechua terms, in order to
quickly put bystanders at ease. I must admit I got fairly good at
this, but not as well as I had liked, since for several reasons and
circumstances, I was never able to become fluent in that variety of
Quechua, try as I might and for which I regret. At the outset,
denying who you are is by NO means a good step forward!
One
example was when we were buying fruits and vegetables in an open market.
Our use of selected Quechua words we used to “spice up” our
Spanish made the vendors laugh and thus gave us a discount on our
purchase. One Limenian woman waiting behind us declared, “Hey! Why
are the Gringo’s prices cheaper than mine?” The Quechua woman
quickly responded, “Do you speak Quechua?…” [‘nuf said!]
I
initially thought that if I could just “live among them”
something would rub off. I was half-right: The more we lived in a
village, raising our children and contributing in some way to the
social and agricultural activities, the more our neighbours got used
to us and relaxed around us. But it took time and many life
experiences to accomplish this (16 years worth!).
This
was also evident when we walked through the nearby communities. They
got used to seeing us around and our kids playing with their kids, so
several would invite us to come inside to their patio and have some
juice and chat. Once you’re invited into a Quechua mother’s
kitchen… you are family, not just a guest!
Quechuas
are transactional in their relationships. Someone may be an aunt or
uncle in their family, hence fully accepted. But what good are they?
Do they help in planting or harvests? Can they barter with food or
tools or pack animals? Can they tell good stories over a fire? Then
they are useful. So then Quechuas can be a bit brazen with outsiders
(outsiders by the way also include coastal Peruvians visiting the
area). Some ask for money or food, or a ride in our truck or… all
three! We struggled basically with how to decline their requests in
as polite a way as possible until our landlords, Erpidio and
Alquilina, actually became our godparents through fiestas and a few
weddings. It was at this point that we finally “fit” into their
social structure and were more accepted (well, sort of).
While
finishing reading a Quechua story surrounded by farmers in village, a
catechist spoke up: “It’s true what Randy says. Our children
learn more quickly reading in our own language then later in Spanish.
And many love the Bible stories in Quechua too. I also believe,
although I’m a Catholic catechist, that many Evangelical neighbors
reading these books like them too. I now consider these people as
brothers and sisters.” [Note: He said that in public!].
There’s
a saying that, I’m not sure if we heard it from others, but we
certainly adopted it: The higher you were raised in the mountains,
the lower you are in the Peruvian social hierarchy (totem-pole). This
cuts across the board, for example within the several varieties of
Protestant and Catholic religious communities. That is to say, a
priest visiting from the coast can carry more social prestige than
the priests who were born and bred in Conchucos Valley. The same was
true of Baptist preachers visiting from Lima and preaching in the
small house congregations in the district of Cajay. As well, teachers
from the regional capital of Huaraz attracted more attention than
those even in the provincial capital of Huari. So their self-image in
the villages is obviously not that “high”.
This
somewhat explains why many neighbors and friends continued to ask us,
for the first few years at least, “Randy, why are you REALLY here?”
Of course we were able to make them understand our motive and
mission, but they never seemed to accept it. Up to this time they
never gave real value to reading and writing in their own
mother-tongue, so obviously THAT can’t be the reason (or so they thought).
Another
thought some had was, “Well Randy and Linda are not really
Catholic, even though they faithfully attend Mass every Sunday in
Huari. So maybe they are secret-agent Evangelicals trying to convert
us!”
But
Linda and I had had lots of conversations, not only with the Bishop
and many priests and nuns in the area, but also with several of the
house Evangelical pastors who drilled us and tried themselves to
convert us. Throughout the years this became our “tightrope walk”
of faith between the many Quechua communities we visited. When
there’s someone unknown around you, there’s fear. Then jealousy
brews up, so, instead, we continued to engage with them making
ourselves public and well-known rather than hide ourselves hence
creating more suspicion.
Aside
from some of the social-health and political issues which arose over
our 16 years of living in Peru, this religious tightrope probably
caused the greatest stress. We were always under some form of
scrutiny, but luckily our “compadres” Alquilina and Erpidio,
seemed to accept us for who we were. After all, we saw them for hours
at a time every day… over 16 years and worked alongside one
another. Their daughter, Reyna, and grandkids (Flor, Linda Marleny,
and Jossmel Jairo) became our “aijados” (god-children) and were
always welcomed at our house. Their family was indeed HOME for all
four of us. And I DO NOT DOUBT that, were we to suddenly show up at their front door, they would welcome us with shouts, tears, and open arms.
But
regardless of the stress, Linda and I were confident that what we
were doing was worthwhile. So we stayed the course: forming a written
literature in Quechua of folktales, song books and Bible stories;
assisting Dan and Diane Hintz in the process of the New Testament
translation, training Catholic catechists as well as coordinating in
the training of government certified bilingual teachers to apply a
fully bilingual curriculum in the schools that the provincial
Education Ministry office had assigned to them. Many Quechua
professionals were trained and thousands of booklets in Quechua were
printed, published, and used in the small mountain districts and
communities. It was a controversial program because it was for
everyone of any faith or belief. It wasn’t imposed; it wasn’t in
any way misleading nor disingenuous.
It was
a gift freely given to every village teacher hence every village and
school involved in the program. No strings attached!
When we
left Peru in June of 2002, we were heart-broken for leaving “family”,
but our conscience was clear and we were overjoyed that, through working with the school system and the many catechists in the area, approximately
130,000 Quechua children became literate and fully bilingual both in
Quechua and Spanish.
