Green Minds Think Alike

From sand dunes as far as the eye can see to rigid mountains painting the skyline, I was enamored by the vastness of the landscapes of Peru. From the coast of Lima to the Andes of Huancayo, you will find the most humble group of people that, without fault, share the wealth of their culture and knowledge through traditional recipes and artisanal crafts. The beauty of Peru is not only found within its diverse scenery, but is shone through the markets decorating the streets with hand-sewn Andean clothing and braided metals to be worn upon your wrist. Passion and love is evident in every aspect of Peruvian life. As I spent time in Huancayo, a small, rural town in the Andean mountains, I learned the ways in which we must offer to the Pachamama (Mother Earth in Quechua) before taking from her. This seemingly small gesture of chewing coca leaves and blowing tobacco smoke is the truest form of respect and admiration one could display, and Nilton, my host father, demonstrated to me each step as we masticated the coca leaves in the side of our cheeks like chipmunks. Andean culture is a culture of appreciation and celebration–celebrating abundance whether or not the plate is empty or full. Abundance is not a reference of wealth, but a signal of gratitude–and gratitude is not lacking in any corner of Peru.

In my first few days in Huancayo, my host father told me to rest before our day had even started. This pause before our work allowed us to express our gratitude to the Pachamama before “taking” from her, or cultivating the land. Cultivation is a direct disruption of the natural flow of nature, and so we must take the time to ask for permission. My host father told me that without this ceremonial pause, the Earth will bring upon sickness upon the individual taking from her. So in these days, we sat amongst ourselves, allowing the insects to crawl over our skin and the coca leaves to numb our mouths. La Casa De Adobe, the organization in which I worked with during my stay in Peru, was a home to a family of four: Elizabeth, the mother, Nilton, the father, and their two young sons. Just a few meters behind the house made of adobe was a school for over thirty students from the local barrio, or neighborhood, ranging from seven to twelve years of age. Most of my days were spent in the classroom teaching English and environmental education.

Throughout my year, I have worked with people ranging from one year old to eighty years old, but there is something particular about working with children: the light in their eyes when their hands touch the soil or boasting about their mothers’ chacras, or gardens. When I first arrived, the property was untouched with little hope of cultivation in an area secano, or an area of dry-farming. However, with determination, we drew a blueprint of a small garden with a composting system that would supplement the soil with nutrients, a sufficient amount to grow herbs and vegetables to demonstrate to the students. As I learned from the land and from the community, I began to share my own knowledge of farming and environmental wellbeing with my students and with the community. I gave presentations on composting and farming, about my own life as a Watson Fellow, what I have learned from other countries, and of course, English. I watched as I became more and more confident speaking the language that I fell in love with.

Abundance is something that was demonstrated each day of my stay at La Casa De Adobe as we prepared and shared meals together each night, cheered for our favorite soccer teams dressed in jerseys of red and white, and sipped wine over card games and hysterical laughing. I learned to create the famous Chicha de Jora, a traditional Andean drink, as well as how to create clay from cacti and earth. Throughout my month at La Casa De Adobe, we created a composting and garden space, improved the English of students, fed the local community, watched traditional dances from the students, played basketball each day during recreo, or recess, and spent my last weekend with a surprise celebration from the entire community. La Casa De Adobe was a difficult goodbye, but a beautiful and enriching experience that I will carry with my throughout my life.

One of the most significant milestones of my fellowship has been becoming semi-fluent in Spanish. Although it was not my original plan to spend nearly half of my fellowship in South America, it was the part of my trip that truly felt the most impactful. Latin American culture is not only seen from the crafts and colors adorning the building or the typical plates that you smell as you are walking through the streets, it is in the way that they speak. The way that they dance. I watched as I transformed from someone who was shy and timid to someone that spoke boldly and confidently, learning how to express myself in a different language and even creating friendships that moved beyond language barriers that no longer feel like  barriers. The three closest friends that I met in Peru, Jessica, Kathy, and Nina, remained patient with me as I grew to be more confident in speaking. After arriving in a new country, each time did not feel easier than the one before. Feeling like things were falling out of place during my first few days in Peru, Jessica and Kathy made sure that I felt somewhat at home in a foreign country, showing me their country and reminding me what the mission of my Watson Fellowship was: connection. Being able to speak their language and create such strong bonds that I would have not been able to otherwise demonstrate the amount of improvement I made in just five months in South America.

Given that Peru was my last country during my Watson Fellowship, I gave myself flexibility outside of my volunteer work to explore the country. Something that I learned about my time in Ecuador is that I did not allow myself a lot of time outside of my work to travel and see new places; I was quite stagnant. After my month of teaching and volunteer work in Huancayo, I traveled back to my homebase in Lima where I joined friends on trips to view the famous sand dunes, the snowy-capped mountains, the Sacred Valley, and Machu Picchu. To end my one year as a Watson Fellow, I set foot on a 75 kilometer journey to Machu Picchu with 14 strangers. This journey allowed five days of reflection in which I was able to think about the entirety of my trip, and what it meant to end it in the days after. I thought about the excitement mixed with sadness that I felt of returning to my home after one year of making new homes around the year. I thought of all of the ways in which I had grown, oftentimes by force. 

My Watson year was far from perfect, but it was more than perfect for me. Each challenge taught me invaluable lessons that I will carry with me far longer than my Watson year, one of which being that I am innately resilient. Whether it was enduring a surgery by myself in a country in which I do not speak the language, budgeting and figuring out how to stay afloat after an unexpected challenge, or learning that my mother had cancer and wondering if I would finish my fellowship, I fell far from having an “easy” year. With that being said, I still remained determined to not only finish my year, but turn it into the year that I knew I deserved from shifting my mindset to one of gratefulness alongside grief. Upon my return home, I have been able to use these skills that I have learned to remain positive in dealing with uncertainties, whether that be my mother’s health or my future. 

Returning home was a big culture shock, more so than from when I returned home from the UK/Portugal a few months before. Spending nearly six months in South America, I became accustomed to slowing down: sharing meals over the table, talking for hours, arriving late from interactions with strangers on the street, or simply finding yourself lost in the greenery that surrounded you, even in the cities. I was also shocked by the feeling that there was not much that had changed at all at home. As I sit here finishing my last quarterly report, my grandparents are both sitting in their respective recliners in our living room that is still decorated from last year’s Christmas, drinking their coffees the same way as they always have. My friends ask me about my journey and then we return to the same gossip we have had since middle school. I see the same jays and robins perched on the backporch, just after spending months of being accustomed to sharing a backyard with toucans and colorful serpents. There is something nostalgic about home now–it no longer feels like I am a part of it, but an outsider looking in and feeling strangely out of place. I believe that a year away from home allowed me to learn who I am outside of my home, which is a free-spirit who is slow to anger and curious about every little detail. At home, I feel enclosed and less creative. I feel stagnant. Yet my return home was not a sad return, but one of excitement for what is to come next. During the last two months of my Watson, I spent each day working on an application for a Study/Research Fulbright Award. Because I was actively traveling and working within my field of interest during this time, I felt confident in articulating my desires to study further and the ways in which my Watson year has molded me into more of a scholar and free-thinker. Just ten days before finishing my Watson, I submitted what I hope to be the next step in my academic and professional journey to a Masters in Environmental Management at the University of Otago in New Zealand. The connections that I built during my time in New Zealand served as an anchor to my application and opened new doors in a place that felt like home due to the kindness of the people around me and the stunning natural scenery that reminded me of our forests in Arkansas.

Less than a week from my departure, I sat with my grandfather on the back porch of his childhood home. I recall when my great-grandmother lived within those same walls and how she rinsed my blue-stained fingers after I had a mouthful of blackberries from the backyard. The same blackberry bushes that stained my fingers blue and purple as a young girl remind me of my roots in Pine Bluff, Arkansas: home. As I learned to identify plants in four different continents, I always returned to the young girl that fell in love with having her hands in the soil. Although I knew my year would not go exactly according to plan, I could not have imagined all of the ways in which it would challenge me and mold me into someone almost unrecognizable, yet more myself than ever before. Just months ago, I was unsure if I’d be able to complete my year as I returned home to be with my mother as she persevered through her battle with stage four cancer. Still, comfort found me in the faces of the children I taught, in the friendships of strangers that became family, and in the quiet solitude of the farms I worked with. One year ago, I could not have dreamt that I would summit mountains, become proficient in another language, or create new homes around the world from New Zealand to Peru. Now, I sit in that same home in Pine Bluff, Arkansas, and think of my next steps knowing that I am equipped with the confidence and resilience that, during my Watson year, was revealed to me.