A season of goodbyes

We are leaving Moro Moro soon.  We know a lot of people here—hundreds, perhaps—and all of them are exerting a lot of energy to send us off right.  They beg us to make time in our schedules so that they can make a lunch for us.  They load us up with bags and bags of corn, potatoes, eggs—whatever gift they can give to express that they appreciate us or will miss us.  They pull us aside to say things like, “We’ve gotten used to having you around,” “Surely you can stay another year,” and “Who will visit us after you leave?”

So we know that we need to say goodbye, and we need to do it right.  Many of these people have done an extraordinary thing in accepting us—strange people—into their lives.  Granted, they had to do so in order to receive the services of our organization, but they didn’t have to do it so graciously and with, as in many cases, so much genuine feeling.  So we need to do this right—to say all the right words with the right emotion, to eat more food than we feel like eating, to drink more than we enjoy, to accept gifts that we can’t take with us (“surely they’d let you take just these 25 kilos of potatoes on the plane, right?).  It’s hard, though.  Sometimes we’re ashamed to realize that our hearts are just not in it.  We feel deep appreciation for our friendships here, but that doesn’t change the fact that we would gladly skip all the goodbyes if we could.  I suppose maybe that’s just the nature of goodbye.  It’s no good.

Since our attitudes are somewhat in the dumps, we’re thankful for those rare moments when we find ourselves actually living in the moment rather than in the future.  Sometimes the powerful mountain scenery we’ve enjoyed for several years can still break through and amaze us, reminding us to soak it in while we can.  Sometimes, in conversation with families who built water systems with us, someone will say something like, “If it weren’t for you, I would be lugging that bucket up that hill right now,” and we realize that this is not just something people say, but rather a fact that demonstrates the importance of our work.  And sometimes we are reminded that Moro Moro culture is so distinct from our own, and we have to admit that we’ll actually miss finding ourselves in hilarious situations on almost a daily basis.  This was the case today.

Last year we helped build a water system for 16 families in a community called Las Lagunas.  Most of the on-the-ground work was done by a local mason and plumber, so we spent a lot less time in the community than we had for other projects.  For this reason, we assumed a simple visit to say goodbye would be sufficient.  That was a silly thing to think.  Through a series of convoluted channels, we received word that we would be expected at a lunch in Las Lagunas today.  We agreed, and we headed out this morning.  As we expected, there was lots of delicious food, a bit of chicha, plenty of time to sit around and enjoy a beautiful sunny day, lots of words of appreciation that made us feel a bit awkward.What we didn’t expect was to arrive to the home where the lunch was held—a patio in the middle of three small mud rooms with no electricity—and find a tower of speakers taller than the tallest house in the area.

But no one else seemed to think much of the enormous speakers, which belonged to the host’s son, who makes money as a DJ in his spare time.  We managed to ignore them all through lunch, and we assumed there would be no music since there was no power source.  But after lunch, just as we were trying to start our goodbyes, the host’s son dragged a generator out of a back room and started fiddling with it.  An hour or two later (after Andy finally got involved and fixed it) the generator fired up, and the music started.  It was extremely loud.  So loud that the sheep tied up on the other side of the valley began running in circles on their ropes, trying to get away from the noise.  And yet, the hosts seemed delighted to sit eight feet in front of the speakers.   

We’ve come to understand that on these occasions there are certain tasks required of us—cultural hoops to jump through, you could say.  If we don’t complete these tasks, the party just goes on and on and everyone refuses to let us leave.  We knew that, as soon as the music started, one thing that was required was that Andy sit with the men for a while and shoot the breeze.  So that’s exactly what he did.  He sat himself down beside our host, a few feet in front of the speakers, and they shouted to each other over the din, telling jokes and discussing music preferences.

Andy enjoying a nice peaceful conversation.  Just to be clear, this photo pretty much captures the entire party.  There is not a crowd of 200 people standing off screen somewhere.  It’s just a few people, and a few hundred decibels of sound.

Then we said our final words of thanks (amplified through the speakers, of course), and our host said a few nice words as well.

Then we tried to say goodbye again, and instead, Andy got invited to dance!