Email: Katie Rains

Dear Everyone,

Welcome to the latest edition of Update from Peru. I am currently not sick in any way shape or form and I had better knock on wood to keep it that way. I only mention this as I have been sick about eight times in the past ten months. Strange as it is to not be sick, it is even stranger to be treated by Andean "doctors" when you are not aware that it is about to happen. That is exactly what happened on my last trip to Huancavelica.

As a Bridge of Hope team, five of us took the overnight bus to Huancavelica for a bit of work and a lot of celebration. The plan was to spend our first day running around the countryside with the artisan group El Mercurio, playing soccer and volleyball and eating a mountain of food. And all of that did happen; I just didn't take part.

I spent the majority of the morning lying down with a bag of oranges as my pillow. No one really took notice until it came time for lunch, and I wasn't able to eat. I continued to lie there and not move. My stomach hurt incredibly badly, and I had the frequent desire to relieve myself of the contents of my stomach. I heard some commotion and someone asking for a cigarette. Someone said my name and helped me sit up.

That is when I was covered by a piece of manta. Manta is the colorful fabric that the Andean women use to carry children, food, boxes, just about anything, on their backs. Quickly realizing that I was too large for the first manta, a second was brought in for reinforcement. One of the women from the group quickly joined me underneath my incredibly colorful, me-sized tent.

She was picking leaves off of some type of herb plant and crushing them with her palms. When she was satisfied with her herb crushage, she called for the aguita, or water. It was a small airplane-liquor-sized bottle from which she drizzled liquid onto the herbs. She immediately put the concoction to my nose and told me to breathe, which I did. It was not water that had been combined with the herbs, but something that smelled stronger than rubbing alcohol. I continued to breathe in the fumes as instructed. Next, my doctor began to rub it over the entirety of my face, not softly. Then, she went up my shirt, and rubbed it all over my chest. And I mean that literally. Finally, she rubbed it on the back of my neck and made me smell it one last time, before we repeated the entire process again.

After the herbs were gone she requested a cigarette. Second hand smoke was the second part of my cure. She began puffing the Inka Cigarette and blowing in my face, telling me to breath, so I did. She continued to puff away and blow the smoke in my ears, armpits, down my shirt, and on my neck. When I was sufficiently covered, she exited the tent and laid me down, retaining the integrity of my tent, and plunged a knife into the soil to preserve my energy. I was told to rest, which I did.

I tell this story to display the affection, compassion and sincere hospitality that I have always been shown by my friends here in Peru. As soon as they knew I was not well, they did everything in their power to help me. And while, culturally, it was out of my world, my well being was their first priority.

I saw this kind of hospitality when I was invited to a Pacha Mancha celebration at the beginning of May. A co-worker and I had been invited to pass the Thanksgiving-like harvest celebration with the artisan group Tupac Yupanki at their home in Tacsana outside of Yaoli, Huancavelica.

We ended up bringing two other gringas with us that day, and we were both nervous, as they hadn't been invited to the celebration. When we got there, they asked us why we hadn't brought with us Angelica, the director of ATIYPAQ, as well. It is kind of an amazing thing. I hope I can bring this spirit of love, compassion, and giving with me back to the States when it is time for me to return.

Hope you all are well.

Katie