Confucius say: complaining is easier than solving.  After the six of us volunteers had a lengthy meeting with Javier (the most senior ProPeru staff, a local) discussing the various faults, loopholes and inefficiencies of our projects, he came to the conclusion that ProPeru isn’t perfect, but as long as we’re willing to learn and improve, progress is inevitable.  I (the pessimist) came to the conclusion that as long as short-term gringo amateurs grant free labor and resources to a society that perceives them as pockets burdened with too much money, progress is impossible.

It seems to me that until there is a fundamental change in the Peruvian understanding of race and economics (which currently consists of the formula White = $) it will be very difficult to make any significant or sustainable impact on these communities.  If they don’t consider themselves equally capable as a gringo of learning, working, or gaining wealth, why would they strive to?  And why would they consider themselves equally capable if a bunch of white teenagers are coming and giving them technology, doing work for them, and educating their children?

A real life metaphor to illustrate my theory:

Two days ago, I noticed a spider the size of a golf ball lurking inside my closet door.  I immediately calculated that a wad of tissue paper would be an insufficient weapon so I called for reinforcements (Raul).  When I tried to go to bed, the images of creepy crawlers that my imagination managed to project into every corner of the room almost robbed me of sleep.  But the very next night, the corner of my eye caught a shadow scurrying under my bed that demanded a second look.  Sure enough, when I (very cautiously) peered under the frame, I beheld the vengeful twin sister of my last victim.  But this time it was past 11:00 and all my back-up assassins were asleep. 

I was not about to curl up in bed right above the unwelcome vagabond so after about 15 minutes of pep-talk, two dreadful failed attempts, and a few furniture rearrangements, I launched my trusty hiking shoe at the beast with the speed and accuracy of a judo master.  I may or may not have yelled “Hi-ya!” and if spiders had ears that may or may not have been the last sound dear Charlotte ever heard.  After I made sure she was officially dead, I slipped into bed and slept like a termite-less, ant-less, bug-less log.

The moral of the story?  Sometimes when a girl is trapped in a room with a spider she finds courage she never knew she had.  Or in other words… maybe desperation is the key to progress (sort of like slitting the throat of the cow—see previous entry).  So maybe it's time for us NGOs to hand the hiking shoe to the Peruvians and start pep-talking, instead of trying to kill all of their spiders one by one.