An Image from Peru
I witnessed a lot of poverty on this trip. I spent time in villages where there was no running water or central heating despite the chill of the Andes. I ate dinner with Bolivian miners who risked their lives everyday to eke out a meager living for themselves and their families, and who talked about the death of their comrades in the mine as if it were just something to be expected. It was dangerous work and they knew it.
But some mental images are more powerful than others, and keep playing in my mind's theater over and over again. A day has not gone by since getting back from South America that I have not been haunted by one such image from Peru. We had been riding on a dirt/gravel road in a mountainous wilderness region to the southeast of Ayacucho. We had ridden for many hours without seeing any other vehicles. There was nothing but dead grass, rocks, and mountain ranges that extended to the horizon on all sides. We had not passed any huts or farmers. There had been no sign of human habitation at all. The road was rough and filled with enormous potholes that could swallow an entire wheel. It was painful riding (and I didn't even have a broken wrist). At one point I nearly rode my motorcycle off the side of a mountain because a section of the road had been washed out. Clearly, this section of road was seldom travelled.
That's why it was such a surprise to see a man running towards the road, waving for us to stop. He was speaking to us quickly in Spanish. He was gaunt and looked over 60, his unkept beard streaked with white. His clothes were torn and dirty. He had sores around his mouth. Most of his teeth were broken or missing. He said he was hungry. He was begging us for food.
As if out of thin air, a boy of perhaps 9 or 10 suddenly appeared at the old man's side. The kid looked absolutely pathetic. Where had he been hiding? What were a child and an old man doing in the middle of nowhere? When had they last eaten a decent meal? I had a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach: I knew that we did not have much food with us. I started going through all my luggage, desperately looking for anything to give them. I thought we might have some instant noodles left, but I couldn't find anything other than one small tin of tuna. "Pescado," I said, handing it to the man. He looked at the small tin with obvious disappointment - and rightly so. It wasn't enough for a snack, let alone a meal for two hungry people. I took some soles (Peruvian currency) out of my wallet and tried to hand it to the man. He waved it away. He didn't want money. He just wanted food. Money would not help him there. Still, I insisted, pressing the bills into his hand, more to easy my suffering than his.
The pictures above were taken in the same area that we encountered the old man and his young companion, on the road between Ayacucho and Ocros.
That night Ted and I stayed in the tiny village of Ocros. We talked about the old man and the kid. We wondered if a truck would stop and give them a ride. We hoped that at the very least they would be able to buy some food. To this day, I still wonder what happened to them.
Our room in the back of a convenience store cost us the equivalent of about three Canadian dollars. There was no running water or showers (cold or hot). Ted was surely in pain from his injuries. I was still sick with a bad cold that I had been fighting since Lima. My nose was dripping, my throat was sore, I coughed non-stop, and my muscles were aching. Yet I still felt lucky - I had eaten a hot meal and had a bed for the night. What a luxury.
Top - You can see the village of Ocros way down in the valley
Bottom - The Village of Ocros, Peru.
But some mental images are more powerful than others, and keep playing in my mind's theater over and over again. A day has not gone by since getting back from South America that I have not been haunted by one such image from Peru. We had been riding on a dirt/gravel road in a mountainous wilderness region to the southeast of Ayacucho. We had ridden for many hours without seeing any other vehicles. There was nothing but dead grass, rocks, and mountain ranges that extended to the horizon on all sides. We had not passed any huts or farmers. There had been no sign of human habitation at all. The road was rough and filled with enormous potholes that could swallow an entire wheel. It was painful riding (and I didn't even have a broken wrist). At one point I nearly rode my motorcycle off the side of a mountain because a section of the road had been washed out. Clearly, this section of road was seldom travelled.
That's why it was such a surprise to see a man running towards the road, waving for us to stop. He was speaking to us quickly in Spanish. He was gaunt and looked over 60, his unkept beard streaked with white. His clothes were torn and dirty. He had sores around his mouth. Most of his teeth were broken or missing. He said he was hungry. He was begging us for food.
As if out of thin air, a boy of perhaps 9 or 10 suddenly appeared at the old man's side. The kid looked absolutely pathetic. Where had he been hiding? What were a child and an old man doing in the middle of nowhere? When had they last eaten a decent meal? I had a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach: I knew that we did not have much food with us. I started going through all my luggage, desperately looking for anything to give them. I thought we might have some instant noodles left, but I couldn't find anything other than one small tin of tuna. "Pescado," I said, handing it to the man. He looked at the small tin with obvious disappointment - and rightly so. It wasn't enough for a snack, let alone a meal for two hungry people. I took some soles (Peruvian currency) out of my wallet and tried to hand it to the man. He waved it away. He didn't want money. He just wanted food. Money would not help him there. Still, I insisted, pressing the bills into his hand, more to easy my suffering than his.
The pictures above were taken in the same area that we encountered the old man and his young companion, on the road between Ayacucho and Ocros.
That night Ted and I stayed in the tiny village of Ocros. We talked about the old man and the kid. We wondered if a truck would stop and give them a ride. We hoped that at the very least they would be able to buy some food. To this day, I still wonder what happened to them.
Our room in the back of a convenience store cost us the equivalent of about three Canadian dollars. There was no running water or showers (cold or hot). Ted was surely in pain from his injuries. I was still sick with a bad cold that I had been fighting since Lima. My nose was dripping, my throat was sore, I coughed non-stop, and my muscles were aching. Yet I still felt lucky - I had eaten a hot meal and had a bed for the night. What a luxury.
Top - You can see the village of Ocros way down in the valley
Bottom - The Village of Ocros, Peru.
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