Majorities and Minorities

The past month in Cusco has been full of many things. June begins the dry season and winter. The mornings are cold and the days are warm and sunny. Just before mid-June, Corpus Cristi happens. This festival celebrates the saint statues that are housed in various cathedrals around Cusco. They all are brought to the main cathedral for a week. More to follow on this, but suffice it to say that, wow, there are a ton of people. The main plaza is completely blocked off to traffic. None could get through anyway. There are that many people packing out the plaza.
Just when Corpus Cristi is over and all the saints are being returned to their various places of residence, Cusco Day happens. Every June 24, Cusco Day is celebrated. Before this day, there are dance competitions with all the schools in Cusco (we don't participate, we actually do work throughout this time). There is also a huge parade of many of the employees of various businesses and residents of various neighborhoods. Again, lots of people and blocked roads.
The actual day of the 24th, there is an annual festival of the sun, a ritual dating from the Incan times. It's mostly touristic at this point, however, it seems. Again, lots of people and more blocked roads.
And then today, we had a March for Jesus. It was easy to tell that we were the minority. Life as normal swirled around us. Cars waited for us to pass. People watched us curiously as we walked by. It wasn't a big deal for anyone but us. It was sad to realize this fact. As I entered the plaza, I remembered how packed it had been the last few times I was there. Now, it was much emptier. The police were standing in a row, if by any chance, just in case there would be some kid of behavioral chaos.
And yet, small as we were, we worshipped. And it was beautiful. We came with hte PROMESA kids, singing and cheering Jesus all the way in English and Spanish) and none of them complained about the long walk, even thouh they were quie tired by the tine we got the plaza. And God was there. We may be the minority, but someday, in faith, maybe we'll be the majority. Maybe someday we'll fill up the plaza, just like everyone else. Till then...keep marching!

My kids

I wish you could meet my kids. Guess that sounds strange in a way for a single person to be saying. One of my third graders asked me the other month if I had kids. I told her I had 55. She looked at me rather agog, mouth and eyes both wide open, and said "55 kids?!". I calmly responded "Yeah, third grade, fourth grade and fifth grade". She thought this over for a few seconds and then said "So, we're your kids?" "Yes, you are", I replied.
I really do feel like my students are my kids. And rather than contradicting this feeling, my kids only feed it. They regularly call me Mami (mommy in Spanish) in class, always correcting themselves and laughing about it afterwards. I even got called Grandma the other week. I won't incriminate anyone on that one... :) They don't wake me up in the middle of the night complaining of hurting tummies or bad dreams, but they do enter my dreams in the middle of the night and they keep me burning the midnight oil sometimes to get everything done on time. They don't clamor at my shoulder for me to come play with them after school and lunch are done, but I do end up working for them during that time. They don't ask me for money, but I do spend it without them knowing. They give me hugs and tell me they don't want me to leave. I give them hugs back and tell them I'm not leaving for a while yet. They tell me they love me. I tell them the same.
My kids make me laugh. Like the other week when Dany was conducting an orchestra in the middle of singing a song in class. His whole little heart was into it and it made me laugh so hard that I couldn't keep singing and the entire class was wondering what was wrong with their teacher! Or the times that they say or do something funny that just makes my day.
My kids make me frustrated. Like when they don't know a word that I'm sure they should know because they've heard it a ton of times. Or when they don't pay attention in class. Or when they are talking during class and I have to keep talking to them.
My kids bless me. Like when they write on their homework "I love you Miss Bethany" or when they come up and give me hugs as I come into the room. Or when they get excited to see me. Or like the other day when I was having a private counseling conversation with Magna during recess and Mabelin made sure we were done before she left the other 5th graders enter the room.
My kids also make me want to cry sometimes. I am not one who cries easily whatsoever. But they make me want to. My heart breaks for Magna and her family situation, for the horribly mean things her dad says to her, for the stress she's under at home because of her dad's affair, for the fact that her little life only has peace when her dad's away. I feel like I know her situation best because she actually talks to me about it. But there's also Alejandra, whose family is also in turmoil right now. And Leo. And Medli. And Ibet, who lives with her dad and misses her mom. And all the others whose problems I don't know about or only have inklings of.
The other day, because of an unexpected emergency, I taught third grade's Bible class on the story of Ruth. We'd just gotten done talking in the teachers' meeting about some of the situations in the school, so that was on my mind. It occurred to me as I thought about the story that it could apply. So as I dramatized the story for them, I emphasized the fact that God never left Naomi alone. The family had problems. Naomi had problems. But God was always with her in that and never left her without someone to comfort her and someone to be with her and provide for her. In Naomi's case, that was Ruth. In the cases of my kids, who knows who that is. But I've been very thankful the last few days that God is an omnipresent God who can help my kids in all their problems and be with them always. Their parents might be fighting. They might be seeing abuse before their very eyes. Their family might be separated. They might have other problems. But God is with them. He is there to hold them and to never ever ever let them go.
So, in answer to my third grader's question, yes I have kids. 55 to be exact. Having 55 kids is a challenge. It's tough, but I love it. It's frustrating, but it's so rewarding. Sometimes I feel a bit like Old Mother Hubbard. Sometimes I feel like the queen of the world. Sometimes I want to ream out parents. Sometimes I want to ream out myself for not being more like Jesus for my kids. I want to be able to love them all unconditionally, no matter how they respond to me in class or what nasty habits they have. I'm finding I need to work on that part some more. They drive me nuts. They drive me to laughter. And they drive me to Jesus and to realize more about my own self.
I have 55 kids. And I wouldn't trade where I am for the world.

Thou shalt have no other gods...

Recently, there have been two instances when I have been made keenly aware again of the idolatry that runs rampant here in Cusco. Thanks to the influences of both Incan Native American beliefs and Catholicism, religion in Cusco is a nice syncretistic thing involving, among other things, witch doctors, reading coca leaves, adoration of saints, and making burnt offerings to the Mother Earth. At this time of the year, there are two festivals: Holy Week and the Velada de la Cruz. Holy Week begins in Cusco with the procession of the patron saint of Cusco, Señor de los Temblores (Lord of the Earthquakes). I'm a little unclear on the exact beginnings of this particular image, but it was somehow involved in supposedly stopping an earthquake or it wasn't damaged in said earthquake or something. So now it is revered as the patron saint of Cusco. Its home is in the cathedral of Cusco, where it resides for about 363 days of the year. The Monday of Holy Week (the week before Easter), it comes out and gets paraded around the city. It ends up back at the Plaza de Armas (the main plaza of the city where the cathedral is located. The last 500 yards of its journey are surely the most difficult. The plaza is packed with thousands of people wanting to touch the statue and receive blessings from it. Many eager hands clamor to touch it and the path of those carrying it is strewn with flower petals. After crawling its way through the crowd, it is then returned to its home in the cathedral, behind golden doors, on top of an altar adorned by flowers, flanked by Mary and Joseph on either side. Recently, I had the opportunity to go into the cathedral for a concert. I took a picture of the Señor de los Temblores, to share on here at an opportune moment. Looking at the Señor de los Temblores, the verse in the Bible that talks about being able to freely approach the throne of grace came to mind. Here is the patron saint of Cusco, locked up in a church building behind a grated, golden door, at the top of a massive altar, so far away no one can possibly touch it. Even taking a picture of it is not necessarily permitted (shhh....don't tell anyone!). In front of the golden doors that form one wall of the home for this saint are candles ready to be lit as part of petitions. There are also wooden boxes to collect alms for the Señor de los Temblores. In the middle of the aisle along which he rests is a kneeling bench for people to come and pray to the Señor de los Temblores about whatever they want. The night I was at the cathedral, there were a surprisingly large number of people who utilized this bench. It all is very sad to me. During Easter week at school, I was talking with my kids about Easter. In third grade, we got to talking about the Señor de los Temblores. I asked my kids "Does he have ears?" No. "Does he have eyes?" No. "Does he have a brain?" No. "Does he have a heart and lungs?" No. "Do you think he can really hear you?" No. I found it interesting, standing there observing during the concert, watching people kneel before the image to pray, that children get what adults do not. Good Friday in Cusco is actually, in some ways, more celebrated than Sunday itself. People go to mass and the faces of the saints are covered. Supposedly, since Jesus is now dead, the saints are as well and people can basically do what they want. In Lucre, a village close to my church in Huacarpay, where the Mennonite church also has a building and where about 15 of our students at PROMESA come from, there is a procession of priests carrying saints to various places and then returning them to the church again. The whole week is full of idolatry and many excuses for drunkenness (as if any were needed).
Last week, I went out for my weekly pilgrimage to Huacarpay. When I arrived, I was informed that I had come in the middle of Velada de la Cruz, a festival that worships the cross - not Jesus, not what He did on the cross, not what the cross means, just the cross. We heard fireworks as we were preparing the songs for worship the next morning. At one point, Rene said "Run to the door and you'll see a procession of people carrying a cross down the street." Sure enough, she was right. Unfortunately, I didn't take my camera (bad timing!) to capture any pictures, but I saw at least two such processions throughout the weekend. Right next to the pastor's family's house, where I sleep on Saturday nights, is a shrine where there was much cross-worshipping happening all night. Fortunately for me, the room where I stay with Lisi and Abigail, the pastor's two daughters is the farthest away from the shrine. Add that to perpetual tiredness and I slept like a log all night, not hearing anything. Ines, the pastor's wife, however, assured me the next morning that, yes, the music and partying went on all night. Walking to my friend Juana's house with her and her sisters after church the next day, I saw another makeshift shrine to the cross set up along the side of the street. Under a dark green tent, a cross sat. In front of the cross were racks of candles, some lit, some not. I did notice, however, that more were lit when I was leaving than when I was coming. Or so it seemed. This festival apparently lasts for 3 days every year.
These two instances lately have reminded me of the idolatry that surrounds me here and the lostness of the people of Cusco. There are many more things I could add, but I'll leave it at that. Please join me in prayer for God's light to dawn on Cusco and drive away the ever-present darkness of sin, to bring God's freedom and saving grace to this needy land.

Never a Dull Moment...

I had a funny experience today in third grade. Walking into the room for English class right after recess and snack, the first thing I saw was Winny with a container containing lettuce and cucumbers sitting beside her. Presumably her snack. THEN I saw the two big snails on top of the lettuce. I connected the snails with the salad and thought "What in the world? Did she really find those snails while she was eating her salad? How did her mom miss that one?" So I asked her. "Winny, were those snails in your salad?" She explained that the science teacher asked them to bring in animals for their science class today. I told her what I had thought and we both laughed. I must admit to feeling relieved.
The class eagerly informed me (and showed me) that besides Winny's snails, there was Hefzi-Ba's fish and Sebastian's cat (yes, a real live cat that stayed in his desk until it distracted him, at which point he put it in his backpack and fed it crackers because it was hungry...I am not making this up!). Earlier Franco's dog visited the class too.
Then, as we were beginning class, I happened to see Hefzi-Ba with her mouth on a straw. The other end was in the bottle serving as the temporary home of her very frightened fish. Again, in the instant thoughts of a teacher, my brain connected the two and I blurted out, "Hefzi-Ba, are you drinking your fish water?!" She looked at me like "Are you crazy?" and said, "No, I'm giving him oxygen". At which point I said okay, again very relieved.
And then as we were reading our monthly Bible verse, my brain wandered to these two incidents and I had to control myself to keep from laughing in the middle of the verse. Instead, I waited till the end to burst out laughing and recount the two incidents to the entire class, who laughed right along with me.
Oh what a day...call me Noah.

Easter, parasites and being incarnational

This morning I've been thinking about the Incarnation. It's a word that's thrown around a lot in Christian circles, especially around Christmas time. This year, I'm thinking about it at Easter instead. In - well, you know what that means. Carn - flesh. So the Incarnation is literally the act of coming into the flesh. That's what happened when Jesus came to earth as a baby.
Similarly, incarnational is a word that is commonly used in missions circles. It describes a ministry or a person who is living "in the flesh", not in the way that it is often used of being sinful. But in the way that the person is able to relate to those around them in a way that is recognizable by those people and is approachable. This morning I've been thinking a lot about that word. Why? Because of parasites.
The last week and a half I've been having this stomachache/diarrhea thing. It's off and on, but it's there. It's not bad enough that it requires complete bedrest, but it's bad enough to be annoying. It's restricted my diet to mostly soup, bread, apples, bananas, apple juice, Sprite, water and tea. Beyond that, I run the risk of making my stomach unhappy. I got a test done looking for parasites and it came back negative. Thankfully, we have two doctors on our team, so I showed them the results. They said it's possible I could still have something they wouldn't have seen under a microscope, so they gave me medicine for giardia (a certain type of parasite). Who knows if it will do the trick or not, but I have to teach again on Monday and I'd rather be feeling better by then if possible. I have no idea where I picked up whatever I have. It could have been in any number of places.
As a single person here, without parents or other family members, I think people don't want to let you ever feel lonely. Thus, I am constantly eating at other people's houses. Today, for example, I have been invited to go to the houses of some of the families from my church to eat the traditional 12 plates (or at least some of them) that are served here on Easter week (I don't even know what all they are, but they are very famous and very traditional. Maybe that can be my next blog posting). The up side of eating at other people's houses is that I can be incarnational and get to know people in their homes and build relationships and learn Quechua and they get to feel comfortable with me (and I learn how to cook Peruvian food...at least a little bit). The down side is that being in more places obviously exposes me to more parasites, germs, etc. Getting sick from eating something is actually really common here, even among Peruvians. If you say your stomach doesn't feel well, one of the first questions people will ask you is "Where (or what) did you eat?" I've never had a problem with eating at other people's houses. But this morning, the "once burned, twice shy" concept entered my head. Now that I've gotten sick from something I ingested, wherever that may have been, the question entered my head "What do I do now?"
And then I thought about Jesus. Living in heaven for all eternity, Jesus never experienced hunger, sickness, cold, pain, discomfort, animal dung in the streets, etc. When he chose to take on flesh and become a man (Incarnation), he also chose to take onto himself the reality of being hungry, sick, cold, in pain, of walking in animal dung, of experiencing what we as humans experience, of eventually dying a horrible death. All because of His love for us, which is greater than His love of His own life. Thinking about Jesus, I realized I have two choices. I can sacrifice relationship for the sake of more sure health. Or I can love and live like Jesus did and trust God to keep me well (while using common sense), in the midst of fellowship, relationship and food. And yeah, sometimes I might get sick. But I also have a powerful God who can take care of that. I know what Jesus chose and I know what He'd say in this situation too.
So happy Easter and I'll see you when I get back from Huacarpay.

Exciting announcement and a very quick update

I am pleased to announce that we now have water in our house again, as of the other day, after 23 days of being waterless! Thank you Jesus! This morning I took a shower in my own house for the first time in almost 4 weeks. Aaaaaaah.
Things are going well at school. The kids are relaxing after the initial two weeks of novelty wore off. I continue to learn a lot about classroom management and about how to love my kids all the time and yet be strict and put into place the boundaries they need as well. Teaching is one of those things that I don't know if you ever really get "down". The fruit of the Spirit song continues to be very popular and I'm still wanting to take the fruits out of the song and put them more in my life. That's gotta be the work of the Holy Spirit. That's all I can say. School keeps me very busy. I always seem to have plenty to do.
We are getting ready for Easter here. I'm also excited to see my youngest brother and his junior class in a few weeks when they come down for a missions trip. So that's a little bit of what's up here. Blessings to you all!

Life without Water

It's easy to take water for granted. Those tiny little crystalline droplets shooting out of the faucet are always there and abundant. But what if you had to live without water for two weeks? That's the situation at my house right now. They decided to start paving our street so they ripped everything up and then I don't know exactly what happened, but they haven't exactly been working on the street the last few days. So we've been without water. The picture is from one day that we were collecting rainwater in various buckets and dishpans. It was great, until I realized it was only enough for about one toilet flush.
God's spoken to me about a lot of things the last two weeks (okay, thirteen days to be exact). I've learned that without water there is no independence to be had. A lack of water creates community. For instance, without water, I can't take a shower at my house, which necessitates me going to someone else's house to use their shower. We can't drink the water out of the faucet without boiling it, so if we want drinking water, we go to Ron and Regina Shultz's (another missionary family) and fill up our water jugs, since they have filtered water. Were I to be independent at this point and refuse the help of anyone else, I'd be expending way too much energy to make it worth it. I realized this relationship between water and community when, after 3 days of being without water, I decided to take a bucket bath, then realized it was a decision between using that water to bathe or to wash dishes. I poured it back and called Ron and Regina to ask if I could use their shower before school.
One of the biggest blessings in the last week has been the advent of a public spigot about a block from our house. With a bit of ingenious rigging of multiple hoses from multiple missionary families, a system has been developed by which we can bring water directly from the spigot to our house. It's not quite the same as pushing the handle on the toilet and having it magically flush or turning a little knob and having water spew out, but at least we don't have to decide between bathing or washing dishes.
And then on Thursday, something happened to the piping that brought water to the public spigot. It ruptured or something. And there was...again....no water. Yet, in that moment, God spoke to me so strongly. I was starting to feel a bit uneasy. They said this could go for up to about a month or so. What if we have no more public spigot for the rest of that time? How would we do that? And in the same breath, God spoke to me: "Do not worry about what you will eat or drink, or about what you will wear." Okay God, I can trust You. Just then God reminded me as well of the story of Jonah and challenged me with Jonah's example. At the very end of the story, Jonah is sitting outside the city sulking because it's not being destroyed. God causes a vine to grow up and shade him. And then He sends a worm to eat the vine and Jonah gets mad. God basically says, "Okay, let's think about this. You did nothing to have that vine, yet you are mad because I took it away. You're concerned about the vine, but you have no care for the 120,000+ people in that city down there." I'd never understood that part of the story before. But God spoke to my heart. "You did nothing to have the spigot. It was put there and you benefit from it. But now it's taken away and you're concerned about where you're going to get water. How much more am I concerned about the people of Cusco - my creation and those who I care for and love - who are trapped in idolatry and don't know me. And how much more should you be concerned for them?" I don't think I'll forget the meaning of that story for a long time. For the record, the piping was repaired and we had water the next day. Maybe God just wanted to teach me a thing or two?!
And in the last two weeks, I've experienced so many blessings. There was the time that I was going to Ron and Regina's to shower and I got a free ride from my stop to their stop (which was very close, but I didn't have time to walk it). There are all the people who have been letting us use their showers. Like my friend Mari who, when I told her it could be up to a month, said, "Don't worry about where you'll take a shower. You can always take one at my house". Or Ron and Regina, whose house has been turned into a public bath of sorts for the missionaries (there is another family besides us who has no water). Or my pastor and his family, who let me use their shower last weekend when I was at their house. Or John and Cindy, another missionary family who have been letting us use their shower. And there was the woman at the little snack stop for the combi drivers. We live at the end of a public transportation line and there is a little snack stop there. Last weekend I heard there was a truck right near there that was giving out free water to people. I had some stuff to do but then went to get mine, but by the time I got there, the truck had left. I asked the women who were at the snack stop and they told me the truck comes every day but it had left for the day. But one of the women was kind enough to give me the better part of her 5-gallon bucket of water. And then there's our dear friend Marga who helps us out in our house, who has been wonderful in helping us keep our buckets and cans and things filled with water.
So, yeah, we have no water. But in the midst of that having no water, I've received so many more blessings and words from God. Yeah, it would be nice to not have to brush my teeth with a cup or pour water into my toilet to flush it. And it would be nice not to have to plan when I'm going to take a shower and rely on the mercy of others for said shower. But I think, for me anyway, the inconveniences have been more than made up for by the blessings and hearing God's voice in the midst of them.

The First Week of School

Since tomorrow is the end of the first week of school, I'll give you a little update on what's been going on here.
I was approaching the beginning of the school year with many mixed emotions. Last year I had some very difficult students. One of them, I found out over break, is not returning. This brought me great amounts of relief, although it sounds horrible to say it. Jesus, teach me how to truly love like You do. But still, I faced the prospect of another year with a certain amount of trepidation. Mixed in with that feeling was one of excitement and enthusiasm for a new year, a clean slate, a chance to improve over last year. On top of that was wondering how it was going to go teaching three grades instead of two.
Monday dawned cold and rainy. On top of that, there was some sort of agricultural strike which affected public transportation. Between these two factors, many of our kids didn't show up. Most families here don't have their own car and depend solely on public transportation to get around. So when there's no public transportation, things come pretty much to a standstill. But, undaunted, we started anyway.
As the week has progressed, nearly all of our enrolled students have showed up, thankfully. Our enrollment is about 130, up from 90 last year. It's been a good week overall. Yes, there have been challenges, but it's been positive so far. I am teaching third, fourth and fifth grade English this year, since we have a shortage of English teachers right now. Despite the busyness and the crazy running here and there, I'm enjoying it.
My third grade class is proving to be my most challenging so far. Managing them is difficult. There are several who I feel like I am constantly talking to. And there's Nohelia. Nohelia is being raised by her brother and sister, since her parents died about 2 years ago. The family is struggling to make it financially and Nohelia is struggling to make it emotionally. The complaint of teachers last year is that she doesn't want to do anything in class. She just sits there. Same story when you talk to her. She just sits there and doesn't respond. The third grade teacher this year echoed that thought when I talked to her yesterday. I noted her reluctance to cooperate yesterday as well in my class. My theory is that she needs a lot of love and a lot of discipline. So I'm trying something. I ask her every time I see her if she needs a hug. And she usually does. I don't know if it will work or not, but it's worth a try. Jesus, thank You for arms and a heart that love to give hugs!
My fourth grade class is a blessing! Last year they frustrated me quite a bit with their bad attitudes and a difficulty with listening and paying attention and obeying. Not all of them, but enough of them that just entering the room made my stress level rise many days, especially towards the end of the year. This year, they are so different! The absence of several students makes a difference, as well as the fresh motivation and some maturing after two months of break. They have been great for me this week and I'm really enjoying them! Thank you Jesus!
Fifth grade continues to be a blessing as well. They enjoy English, are motivated, and generally have a good ability to learn the language. They understand well and are also willing to speak. We have a good rapport. The class has a love affair with pizza which was revisited the second day of class when they asked me when we can make pizza in class again. Oh boy...
I decided to do something new this year and choose a student every day to choose an English song to sing. It's great English practice for them and they really seem to enjoy it. I've also taught all my classes this week a song about the fruit of the Spirit, since that's both a theme in the school this year and the verse we're learning this month. The song talks about how the fruit of the Spirit is not a coconut, banana, raisin, kiwi, cherry, watermelon, grape, etc. Each of the fruits has a motion to it. All three classes love the song and ask to sing it every day. I was very impressed to note today that a good number of my fifth graders are actually getting the words, despite the fact that they are fast and in English! Whooohoooo! Singing together has probably been my favorite part of the week thus far.
I realized, in processing all this tonight, that God has been so faithful and good and truly has answered many prayers for this year, especially as far as fourth grade is concerned and as far as I personally am concerned. I can tell that my attitude is much better since the break than it was before. As I teach my kids the fruit of the Spirit, that's been a focus in my own heart as well. I've realized since being here that my tree needs to be bearing much more fruit. I need to be more like Jesus.
So I'm looking forward to the rest of the year. Oh, I won't say that it won't have its difficult times. I won't say it already hasn't. But I know that I'm not alone in this and that God will continue to be my help and enable me to bear more fruit.

My cold hands and Isabo

I have almost perpetually cold hands. Always have. Probably always will. Enter Isabo. Isabo is in Carrie's summer English class. She's going in to first grade. She's a quick little girl who loves to talk and sing and participate. Yesterday we were standing in a circle with all the kids singing "Hallelalalalelalelujah". And then we grabbed hands to pray. Isabo happened to be standing in between me and Jessica, another girl who is here for several months helping out in the school. Grabbing both of our hands, which were both cold, she said, half to herself, half to whoever else happened to be listening "Alalau!", which is the Quechua word for "Brrrr!". (They don't get brrrrr here.) That in itself made me laugh.
So after we prayed, I said, "Isabo, I'm sorry. My hands are freezing!" She looked at me in all sincerity and simply said "Guantes" (gloves). And again I had to laugh.
Then today we went to the zoo with all the English class kids. Isabo was sitting on my lap on the bus on the way there. All of a sudden, her hands grasped mine. Before I knew it, my hands were crammed into the tiny pocket on the front of her sweatshirt, half of my palms sticking out either side. My fingers, amazingly, began feeling warmer. And then she put her little hands on top of the backs of my hands that were sticking out of her pocket, covering them protectively. And my whole hands started to feel the warmth. Pretty soon, they weren't cold anymore. My heart, at the same time, was melting too, for the record. Here was this tiny little girl, half my size, was taking care of my cold hands and warming them up as best as she knew how.
And so God showed me love today through the warm hands of a 6-year-old Peruvian child in a blue sweatsuit on the bus on the way to zoo.

Women and Technology - a different perspective

Here's a little story, just to make you smile.
Washing machines here are a luxury. The majority of Peruvian women wash their clothes by hand and teach their kids how to do it too. Realistically, it would be extremely rare to find a Peruvian who had never had the experience of washing clothes by hand.
My friend Marga's washing machine broke down the other month. Apparently, several weeks ago she was lamenting this fact to someone at church and David, the pastor overheard her.
"Only lazy women use washing machines", he told her.
"No David," she replied. "I'm not the lazy one. While I'm washing clothes, I'm also cooking, cleaning, washing dishes, and taking care of my kids. I get a lot done in a short time! The lazy one is the woman who doesn't have a washing machine and spends all day washing clothes, not getting anything else done!"