Friday, May 15, 2009

La Ultima Semana

I don't know how to do this. This has been one of the hardest weeks of my week.

Every day this week was another goodbye. Tuesday - 3rd and 4th graders. Wednesday - 1st and 2nd graders. Thursday - 5th and 6th graders and all the kids in San Isidro.

On Sunday, as a final outing with the older kids. I took about 7 older kids to a village a little further out from San Isidro - Quequena. It was an amazing day full of rock hopping in the beautiful river, eating ice cream, and laughing with the kids.

On Thursday, after my last day teaching English at Corazon de Jesus, I went to my last day of Tareas (Homework Project). What was perfect about that afternoon was how normal it was - so simple, so beautiful. I helped Elmer with English homework (like always). Then I helped Fernando with a drawing of the digestive system. After, I played UNO with about 4 kids until we served the big pot of soup to the kids. The whole time there were sporadic exclamations of "No se vaya!" (Don't leave), but mostly, everything was like always - which was so, very perfect.

Then it got a little more difficult. One of the older girls, Maria, presented a drawing that nearly 15 kids had contributed to. It was beautiful. Then she started crying and gave me a big hug. In that moment, nearly all the children ran up and hugged me at once with a chorus of "Por que se va?" (Why do you have to leave?) or "Se voy a extranar" (I will miss you). Two of the boys that I've been good buddies with the entire time, Kevin (12) and Wilbur (13), hugged me for a lot longer than the others. Near the end, when all the kids were leaving, Kevin and Wilbur returned with giant tears in their eyes. They told me that they would always remember me and that I've been one of the best friends in their lives. That's when the first round of tears started.

I got it together and while I was taking the big pot that held the soup and all the dirty bowls back to the house of the Sra. Martin (the San Isidro mom that helps us everyday with nearly every project), I ran in to Sra. Martin. She asked me why I had tears in my eyes and I told her it was because I was leaving. All of a sudden, she ran at me with a huge hug and started bawling. For a good five minutes, we cried and hugged each other. I thanked her for all of her work and she told me that she would continue taking care of the kids and that she wanted me to come back to San Isidro if I ever return to Peru. Her little six year old son, Miguel, also ran at me hysterically crying.

I got on a crowded bus with a sunset on the horizon and for the final time, I said goodbye to San Isidro, Mollebaya, and Socabaya. On the bus back, looking at the picture the kids gave me and looking out the window at the huge dirt hills that surround San Isidro, I could not help but cry - again. Though, this time, I wouldn't say it was a sad cry. It was a rare feeling of being completely satisfied. About four months ago, I traveled half way across the world from the hustle and bustle of the USA to the simple, yet trying life of San Isidro and Coporaque. I sacrificed sleep and, sometimes, sanity to help a people who try so hard, yet still have nothing. In every point in life, there are those people that will forever change you. San Isidro has done that for me - every child, every mother, every setback, and every success. I can not imagine not seeing the faces of those children every day.

Back on the bus, my friend leaned over to me, and whispered to me: "Better to loved and lost. Don't cry. You did a great job there."

Thank you San Isidro, thank you INTIWAWA, and thank you Peru for giving me an incredible life experience.

"Siempre para los niños, por los niños." ("Forever for the children, because of the children.")





I'm off on my independent travels for about a month (Ica, El Carmen, Lima, Cusco, and Puno). I'll keep updating you all on what I see.

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