Choro

On a busy street in Chorillos a heavy door swings open to let a group of US Americans into an open complex of brick and rebar and concrete and dust that is the home of a methodist church. Around tables are dozens of children eating thin cooked cereal and bread, and drinking fresh milk. They welcome us as eat their breakfast, provided by the Methodist Church of Peru with help from the United Methodist Church in North Carolina. They tell us their names and we tell them ours. But theirs are so many and so strange to our ears that we don’t remember well.

It’s Ron’s first trip to Peru, and he has told his roommate that he won’t be back. Peru is not his thing. Plenty to do in the states. He struggles with the heat, with the schedule, with the food, with the noise, with the dust, with the language. He likes children, but he can’t understand what they’re saying, and he can’t tell them anything. Warren helps, but it’s not the same talking and hearing through someone else. It’s distant and confusing, but it’s not worth learning a language for just one trip.  Jocelyn is confused too. She looks at Ron and speaks to him and asks Warren why Ron doesn’t talk with her. Warren says that Ron doesn’t speak Spanish, he speaks only english. Jocelyn looks at Ron with an odd mixture of looks and walks away. Breakfast continues. A minute later, Jocelyn is back. She hands Ron a book. It’s one of her school books. It’s a children’s dictionary. Ron asks Warren, “What’s this,” and Warren asks Jocelyn. “Un regalo,” she says, “a gift.” “What do I do? says Ron, his blue eyes beginning to burn behind his glasses, his cheeks going red. “You say, ‘thank you,’ says Warren, leaping over the logistics. “But it’s her school book,” says Ron. He doesn’t need to mention that he has enough money in his pocket to buy school books for all 50 children gathered here for breakfast.  “This is more important than that.” “We can get her another dictionary.” Ron turns back to the little girl. Her big brown eyes search the face of this unfortunate man at a loss for words. The dam breaks. Ron begins to blubber. “What’s the word?” “Gracias.” Gracias, Jocelyn. Gracias.

 “Never trust a Spiritual leader who can’t dance” - -Miyagi