PC Month 1: April 2026
Hola amigos y amigas!
All ten of my toes safe and sound in a new life, I write this newsletter to you from Chaclacayo, Perú: 30 days of blood, sweat, and tears closer to fulfilling one of my greatest dreams as a Peace Corps Volunteer. Though the days are long and the adjustment has been steep, I feel in every possible way that this was absolutely the right step for me. I’ve worn most of my clothes and all of my shoes, which means I did a good job packing! I am still positively floored by the amount of people that showed up, lifted me up, and filled me up in my final months before leaving and am still being sustained by all this love. Though saying goodbye to my sweet mama at the train station, my final goodbye after a week of goodbyes, was nearly impossible.
One of my first month goals was to write a letter every day for the first 30 days, which I hope will be accomplished with tomorrow’s trip to the post office! Many people on this newsletter received one, but they take some time to arrive, so keep an eye on your mail. The poor postal clerk has been so confused by the destinations: California, Maryland, Washington, Colorado, Florida, North Carolina, Australia, London, Switzerland. It took about ten minutes of explaining for her to understand that Malta is it’s own country and I’m still not confident that that letter will ever reach dear Sandie.
As you can tell from the images, Chaclacayo is very dry. The elevation of the Andes prevents
weather from Perú’s eastern rainforests from reaching the coast, so Lima and the surrounding neighborhoods that make up the western foothills (cerritos) are completely barren from what I’ve seen so far. Though locals do the best with what they have - every available space in town is planted with drought resistant plants and small gardens, which they water fastidiously. The town itself is built around the river Rímac, which isn’t much to see. The riverbed consists of rocks, loose sediment, and trash, the water is brown, and nothing grows in or around. Everyone, Peruvians and gringos alike, have to either bring a guard dog or carry rocks and sticks to walk in the streets so the stray dogs don’t bite you. Dog bites are the single most common injury for Peruvian PCV’s (Peace Corps Volunteers) and we all got two doses of the rabies vaccine in our first week.
That and diarrhea: our medical officer says we will all poop our pants at some point in the next two years and we even have a prize for people once they have pooped themselves. As of this week, we have our first "winner" - congrats Will!
The most comparable country to my life in Perú so far is India; people share space with many animals, traffic laws are subjective, the houses are all made of rough cement and rebar, tuk tuks (mototaxis) are everywhere, and national infrastructure is minimal. I’m very excited to experience the greener parts of Perú in the coming months!
Despite this, I have very much made a home here. The other volunteers are excellent. There are 34 of us split into two even groups, Community Economic Development (CED - my sector) and Water Sanitation and Hygiene (WASH). We’re together for training 8 hours a day, which consists of Spanish immersion, health, safety and security, customs and culture, integration, and more - skills that are designed for us to use once at
our sites. We play volleyball after class every day and spend all our free time together studying, playing games, hiking, doing yoga, and exploring Lima’s neighborhoods. It’s hard sometimes with such a big group because there’s always something going on and it feels tempting to be part of everything, even though it’s not possible. So far, my games have been received enthusiastically and I feel like I’ve shown up exactly as myself :)
The Peace Corps gives us 15 soles (US $4) per day to live on, which is not a lot by anyone’s standards, but enough to mail a letter, or eat a fat chicken shawarma at the local stand, or buy a beer at the La Oficina, which has been a favorite local bar for generations of volunteers. When we go there after training we say we’re having “Office Hours”.
Además, the Peace Corps staff are incredibly knowledgeable and go above and beyond to help us with our adjustment. They greeted us at the airport with a parade: posters, signs, flowers, and banging drums. From the second I stepped off the plane I felt our presence was long awaited.
The other light of my life here is my darling host family consisting of Rosa (madre, la reina de la casa), César (padre de André y Sebas, construction worker), André (29, local math teacher), Sebastien (25, in uni online while working in a skincare lab), Mateo (10), Rosalinda (tía), Estela (abuela) and Pepe (abuelo). There are 6 others that live with Estela and Pepe in the adjoining house, but I haven’t quite gotten a grasp on their names and relations yet. They have treated me like one of their own from the first moment I walked in the door.
My room has a window, which I’ve come to learn is the utmost indication of luxury. At every turn, I
see evidence of the sacrifices the family has made in order to attempt to replicate the quality of life I’m
used to. Of all the other volunteer houses I’ve seen, mine is by far the nicest. Our floors are finished and
the cement walls are painted. There's a washing machine on the roof (still have to fill it with water by
hand, but light years easier than hand washing) and windows in several of the rooms. I cannot emphasize
enough what a difference it makes to live in a space with natural light. I will never take a window for
granted again.
Rosa, in addition to making all my meals, walks me to the street corner on my way to training every morning, and I feel like I’m back in elementary school with my lunchbox and
my backpack as she straightens my collar and tells me not to talk to strangers. In training, we are warned frequently of Perú’s machismo (toxic masculinity) culture and how that might affect both our day to day lives and our host family experience, but César is a welcome outlier. He sits with me
at the dinner table every night and we talk for hours. He speaks slowly and patiently and our conversations range from US customs to Peruvian culture to health and policy and politics. Last night we talked about living on a self-sustaining farm that works in tandem with the land and the pro’s and con’s of GMO’s. Can you believe I can have those conversations in Spanish!? He cleans the kitchen (unheard of in many Peruvian families) and asks about my feelings. He absolutely cracks me up with his stories, like when he was 8, living in his hometown, and saw a white person for the first time. Or when he bought his first motorcycle, a Chinese brand, and “¡Después de 5 o 6 meses, lo estaba conduciendo y se empezaron a caer piezas!”, “After 5 or 6 months, I was driving and parts began to fall off!”
André laughs easily and is highly entertained by my attempts to speak - I didn’t know how to say
‘pillowcase’, so I called it a ‘pillow pocket’ and he found it hilarious. I went to the club one night and forgot
my housekeys and he stayed up until 3 AM to let me in. Sebastien recently spent 3 months in the US (Pennsylvania) and is excellent at using simple Spanish to explain words I don’t understand in my conversations with César and at guessing the end of my sentences when I can’t quite translate.
Mateo is a bit of a screen-addict kid (it’s an international issue) and I think he’s a bit lonely in a house full of adults. We’ve played spot-it together a few times and he whoops me! The real babies of the house are our two gatitos, Tells and Mylo. The whole family treats them like children, cradling them in their arms and singing to them and kissing their bellies. I’m shocked the cats tolerate this, but I think they are grateful to be off of the streets.
On my birthday, the family didn’t coordinate who was going to get me a cake, so I came home from
training to a carrot cake from Rosa, Sebastien, and André from three different bakeries! The fact that they
all individually remembered my preferences and wanted to make sure I was celebrated touched my heart.
My mom is very close friends with the other 6 moms of the neighborhood, called Morón, and they
all hosted a welcome party for the seven of us (me, Cole, Tylah, Jayden, Beau, and Bruno) on our first
weekend. They each made a traditional Peruvian dish to try, welcomed us with speeches, and told us that
we all have seven new moms - which means, among the support we can rely on, that nothing that
happens at home is a secret (chisme, gossip, is a very active part of Peruvian culture).
Thank goodness Perú is famous for its food, because listening comprehension and immersive language learning is a massive cognitive load. I’m hungry pretty much all the time. Learning Spanish is by far my greatest obstacle. The more I learn, the more I’m self aware when my grammar is terrible and the more I freeze over the simple conjugation of a verb. I try to have Pop-Pop’s confidence, and in some ways I’ve mastered dropping the ends of words so you can’t quite tell if I ended it in an -o, -a, or -e, but I have a strong desire to speak well, like I do in English. It just feels like the amount of time and effort I’m putting in does not at all match my expected progress, which is a frustrating combination. It drains me when I’m trying my best to speak and the person I’m with is trying their best to understand, but we still can’t make it happen. The silver linings to my struggles are the satisfaction that comes on both sides when I’m having a conversation and I finally do understand what’s being said. I also find solace in my small group Spanish sessions, consisting of me, Lexi, Serena, Dom, David, Merrick, and Estefanía, our teacher. There’s a lot of laughter as we blunder through our lessons, which relieves some of the mental exhaustion.
I learn lessons every day on the true depth of my life of privilege back in the US. On one of my first days I asked, in my naivety, why so many Peruvians drink instant coffee when Perú produces such good real coffee. Sebas answered honestly and without judgement. “We usually can’t afford the beans.”
Another day I was on the bus to Lima, an hour and a half long
ride, and I had to stand the whole way because there were no available seats. Throughout the journey, I was cranky, and by the time we got to Lima, I was pissed. It took me hours before I realized that even my attitude comes from a place of privilege. I was en route to Lima to be a tourist. The Peruvians on the bus around me, also standing, were on their way to work. I will likely only have that experience a few times in my life, this is their daily commute for jobs that often don’t have guaranteed income. Those same people would all stand another hour and a half on the same bus on the way home whereas I took an uber. Life in Perú is a novelty for me, I’ll return to my cushy reality in the US eventually. For these people, including my mom Rosa who I know took the bus to work in Lima that same day, this is the only life they will ever know. I’m sure this feeling will only continue to expand in the next few years.
One weekend we had the first round of Peruvian presidential elections, with 35 candidates on the ballot (the ballot was so long it was like a scroll) and a lot of frustration and anger on the part of the citizens. Perú’s political climate has been strained to say the least. The presidential term is meant to be 5 years, but Perú has had nine presidents in the past ten years, most being removed by congress for “moral incapacity”, aka suspected corruption (wouldn't be a bad law to enact in the US). The shortest term, Manuel Marino, was only five days long. Not only is it mandatory to vote, with a steep fine (minga) for abstaining, but the sale and consumption of liquor is prohibited the day before, day of, and day after the elections (the Dry Law). No one in my family had to work that day, and the next day was César’s birthday, so we used it as an excuse for a gathering and a barbeque. Rosa’s sister owns the local bodega, so we had no problem getting alcohol, despite la Ley Seca.
My highest highlight so far was my 28th birthday, which could not have been better. I walked downstairs in the morning to a balloon, flowers, and Mateo and Rosa singing to me. I sat down to eat and Rosalinda came in with un regalito, little gift, that turned out to be a fine golden bracelet with dragonfly charms. I wasn’t expecting any gifts, so this really touched me and I gave her a big hug. As soon as she left, Estela came in saying the same thing “solo un regalito”, just something small for you, and I opened yet another golden bracelet, this time with flowers. Tears sprang to my eyes, taking me completely by surprise. I just felt so seen and so wanted. I put them on immediately and jangled them all day. The other volunteers must have wished me happy birthday a hundred times. Every staff member gave me a hug and a kiss. Natalia made me a card. The CED staff got me a cake and I shared it during lunch. I was glowing.
In the evening, César took the whole family out to a nice restaurant. I cannot stress enough how patient and understanding they are with my learning process, gently correcting me without interrupting and giving me the words I need when I can’t find them. We were there for hours and there was, of course, more cake and singing. We walked home the long way, strolling through the streets as a family (of course, brandishing rocks and sticks in case there were dogs). That night, Rowan hosted a birthday party for me in San Diego with all my friends. I was so touched and honored at who showed up and laughed as they sent videos of their best impressions of me. I’m so grateful that they gathered for me, this is exactly the impact I’m trying to make! The highlight of my birthday, after all this, was a little song that Danya recorded and sent to me. The most personal and beautiful long distance gift I could ask for.
On Thursday April 30th, 22 days after my arrival in Perú, I taught a 90 minute class on Design Thinking to 33 seventh grade students entirely in Spanish. I am so proud of myself. I did a really good job. Not to a native Spanish speaker, but to every past version of myself. I’ve been frequently conversing with past versions of myself here (and Lewis and Clark). I had two co-teachers, other volunteers that did not come in with Spanish, we executed what we had practiced, we were prepared, we used creative and effective resources, and we handed out candy liberally. The students were overall receptive. Though, our PC evaluator pulled me aside about 75 minutes in and told me that the whole time I had been using
“creer” instead of “crear”, so I had been telling the students to believe in their pencil cases instead of
create a pencil case prototype. In many ways, I’m excited to step up, work hard, and create something
meaningful once at site. All the CED volunteers went to ‘office hours’ to celebrate afterwards.
This letter is a highlight reel, of course, there have been real lows and I promise to keep it real in
the letters to come. In all however, I can’t be too sad. I feel that I have everything I need for this chapter
emotionally, spiritually, physically, and financially. How many people on earth can say that?! I truly am in
the top 0.01% of luckiest people alive. One month down, 26 to go.
xoxo,
Mads
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