A Broken Heart for Peru

Today after breakfast I went for a walk. I was just planning to go up to the main plaza and maybe check out the yarn shop. All morning, though, I'd been thinking about the sick beggars... thinking about how my faith needs stretching... and growing within me was the intention to pray for the beggars. And then... I took a "wrong" turn. (I put this in quotes because while some would no doubt call it that, I have a bit of trouble believing there is such a thing for someone being led by the Ruach HaKodesh.) I wasn't too familiar with the route to the plaza anyway, so I didn't notice immediately. When I did, I decided to just keep going and see where I ended up.

After a while, I came to a completely different part of town. The houses had thinned out, and there were fields beside the road instead. Up ahead I saw some buildings, so I kept walking. And then... oh, my people! What did I find, you ask? The Quechua people. Tucked away in this nearly deserted corner of Cuzco... my people. There, completely separate from the "main" part of Cuzco... there I found the true Peruvians. Their market was dirty and disorganized, with everything from clothing to hot food to fresh vegetables, laid out in piles underneath makeshift tents - that is, plastic tarps set up on poles. Oh, my people.

You could tell that not many white people come to that part of town... many people stared, and one young vendor asked me what I was looking for. Honestly, I don't think it's just white people they aren't used to seeing there... I got the feeling that no "outsiders" frequent that market.. Peruvian, white, or otherwise. I finished touring the mercado, and decided to return via a different street than that by which I'd come.

Sitting beside the road was a very old woman, begging. I told her truthfully that I had no money. On my second pass, I suddenly had a crazy impulse. Sitting down on the grating next to her, I bid her "Buenos dias" (Good day). She looked away, but I wasn't ready to give up. So I asked her if she had familia. She shook her head and mumbled something, and I realized she had not a single tooth in her mouth... nothing but a /huge/ wad of coca leaves, which she "chewed" with her gums. You can imagine, I'm sure, what a strange sight we made: a young caucasian sitting on the ground next to a wrinkled old Quechua beggar. Many people stared. Still I sat there, chatting at this woman, who would only occasionally respond in the slightest.

At one point early in the one-sided conversation I asked if she spoke Spanish, and she shook her head and mumbled "no." Not to be disuaded, I asked, "Quechua?" She shook her head and again mumbled a negative response... but a few minutes later, I asked (in Spanish) "So... no Spanish, no Quechua..." and she said something which included "Quechuapi" (in Quechua). Too bad I don't speak it... at least not their dialect, and not enough to say much anyway.

I sat there, and at one point said (in Spanish) that she was beautiful. She either ignored it or didn't understand. That's okay... I just wanted this woman to experience Love. I tried again: "En Quechua, se dice 'sumak'" (In Quechua, they say 'sumak'). That brought a response. She looked at me and repeated "sumak." I said, "Estas. Umm... sumak. Sumakmi kanki." (You are... beautiful. You really are beautiful.) She said something I didn't catch.

An old man walked up, wearing a tattered baseball cap. I smiled at him, and he smiled back, crossed himself, and took off his hat to me. I was a bit confused, I'll admit. He started talking, saying repeatedly "gracias" and "muchas gracias" and calling me "mamacita." I stood up to speak with him. He went on and on, but I could hardly understand anything he said due to the fact that he had only two teeth left. He kept thanking me. I don't really know for sure what he was saying. Once or twice he said "I'm just a little old grandfather."

At one point when he seemed to be talking about something sad, I said "Abuelo, sabe que Dios te ama?" (Grandfather, do you know that G-d loves you?). He beamed at me, took off his hat heavenwards, and started talking about El Señor (the L-rd). I repeated "He loves you" (in Spanish), and the man smiled and once again offed his hat toward heaven. He talked a bit more, thanking me over and over againa, and then walked away.

I sat back down with the woman, who I believe had been paying close attention the whole time. After just a few minutes, the Ruach of G-d said it was time to go. So I reached out and, putting my hand on her, I said, "Abuela, voy a ir ahora" (Grandmother, I'm going to go now). She looked away, her bright red hat hiding her wrinkled face, and made no response. "Buenas dias, okay?" (Good day, okay?) I said. "No!" she exclaimed. I was a bit surprised, since no one has ever declined a wish of "good day." "No? Por que no?" (No? Why not?) I asked. No answer.

"Abuela?" I asked, "Que es?" (Grandmother? What's wrong?) Still no response... just a turned head and a hat hiding her face. I leaned forward a bit to try to look her in the eyes, and she recoiled. I backed off, but I'd seen what I needed to see. For from the inner corners of her eyes, tears were making their way toward her cheeks. Repeating "Buenos dias, Abuela," I stood up and walked away.