Poco a poco

We’ve been in Samne now for seven days, and things are already starting to feel routine: rise and shine (or grumble) to Barbara poking her head in our bedroom door, carbo-rich meals at the Restaurante Malú, making new friends every day (perks of being on the community half of the Peru team), afternoon sing-along sessions to the Beatles or Juanes … I thought we’d be roughing it in this quaint town nestled partway between the Peruvian coast and sierra, an hour and a half away from the nearest city, but life is good in Samne. Granted, most residents probably don’t live in a house as luxurious as the one in which we are staying, or blow a fortune in soles on our daily chocolate runs. But when one woman asked me if I could get used to life here even after living in America, I had no problem saying yes.
I get a lot of those kinds of questions here. Since I’m on the community team, most of my days are spent getting to know residents through house-to-house interviews and, more commonly, spontaneous conversations that arise outside of strictly “work” hours. “What’s America like?” many of them ask, to my awkward stammers. (How do you answer a question like that? “Oh, you know … different.”) But it’s not America specifically that they wonder about. It’s also Spain, Lima, Trujillo  (the closest big city) — all places that to them hold the promise of better jobs and schooling. For all of Samne’s natural beauty, the people here know that this town doesn’t offer the same promise and opportunity. 
“Somos casi echado al olvido.” We’re practically a forgotten town, I was told by one resident. Another spread her hands in a gesture of pleading: “No tenemos nada.” We don’t have anything. I was initially thrown off because that simply isn’t true. This town has electricity, running water, and pending projects to improve bridges, sewage, and other infrastructure. They’re blessed with an extraordinarily competent and motivated mayor. Their school system is in good shape. In many ways they’re leagues ahead of Huamanzaña, the last community that EWB–Princeton Peru worked in. But that’s not who the people of Samne compare themselves to. What they see is that communities not too far away are barrelling towards urbanization and development and they feel as if the train is leaving without them.
As a result, everyone here is impatient. When we visited the colegio, the primary and secondary school, the director excitedly rattled off a long list of things that the school lacks: a library, administrative offices, a chemistry lab, computers and internet, a recreational pavilion. “Can you do it?” he asked. “We need these things badly.” The inefficiency of the Peruvian political system only exacerbates the community’s thirst for development. During our first town meeting this past Monday, one attendee implored us to choose a project and stick to it so that we could be “seguros como el gato.”* (Ironically, this same gentleman was the corregidor, or assistant, to a past mayor whose term was characterized by an inability to execute any meaningful town projects.) 
The urgency I sense is sobering when you realize that the change that everyone dreams of, at the speed that they desire, is near impossible. Sustainable development takes time. It involves behavioral and attitude change, which means overcoming generations of social inertia. In order for Samne to become the prosperous economic center and ecotourism destination that its citizens talk about, they can’t keep dumping trash into the Río Moche. They’ll have to overcome the cultural unwillingness to pay more for public services like water and sewage treatment, or else these projects will never succeed. Their diet could use improvement, as could their conception of basic sanitation standards, such as hand-washing with soap.
On Tuesday we were visited by Melissa, a Peace Corps volunteer based in a town about two hours removed from Samne. After our meeting, we spent a while talking to her about her experience in the Corps — both about challenges faced and lessons learned. One obstacle that she emphasized was that progress takes place so slowly. “In Peru,” she said with an ironic smile, “we do this thing called ‘poco a poco,’ which means ‘little by little.’” It speaks to the disorganization inherent in Peruvian culture, of course, but it’s also a universal truth of development. And that’s discouraging to anyone involved in any type of development initiative. 
‘Poco a poco’ makes me feel insignificant. It makes me wonder what I’m doing here. If I were inclined toward pessimism, it would make me cynical and maybe even a bit hopeless. But just because progress moves slowly doesn’t mean it’s not worth pursuing. How many years did our mothers have to hound us just to instill the habits of eating vegetables and making our beds? (To be completely honest, most of the time I still don’t do the latter … You win some, you lose some, I guess.) It’s difficult, for sure, but Peru has  also shown me how to conquer the frustration. 
Samne’s patron saint festival is taking place soon and will feature, among other things, a donkey race with a prize not only for the winner but also for the burro más burro — the most stubborn donkey. I know it’s counterintuitive  that anyone would ever choose a burro as a role model for behavior. Nonetheless, if donkey-like perseverance is necessary to keep up the work that we’ve set out to do, then that’s what I’ll aspire to. With any luck, and as long as our actions are careful and well-informed, we can help our partner communities in some small way to achieve the opportunities that they strive for.

* “Sure like the cat.” I didn’t catch his entire explanation, but the metaphor refers to a cat trying to catch a mouse. If it already has one mouse in hand, then it shouldn’t try to catch more, but rather focus on keeping a hold of what it has.