Brittany McGee

“I really should have put make up on today,” I thought as my socia was waving her hand at me, beckoning me to the stage where a combination of school staff, teachers, and the elected Queens of Spring, Sport and Julio Ponce were sitting.

I had only stopped by the school to ask my socia if we could schedule a meeting for Tuesday, when the Lambayeque Regional Coordinator and Peace Corps Volunteer Leader were planning to visit my site. But, it was September 18, which meant it was the public high school’s 53^rd birthday that day.  My 5 minute visit turned into a 6 hour celebration.

“At least I washed my hair and put on nice clothes,” I told myself. We hadn’t had running water that morning, so I almost didn’t bathe. Luckily, a man had brought water to our house and I decided it had been long enough since the last time I washed my hair.

I climbed the stairs, looking out to the students wrapped around the courtyard, clinging to the shade of the trees. It was a particularly sunny day for Olmos and I felt for the students who were standing in the direct sunlight. I sat down and my mind immediately flashed back to my days in high school and the assemblies we used to have. Of course, more often than not these were inside, in the air-conditioning.

As the assembly continued, I found myself trying to relate it to any event back home. The closest I could come up with was a Homecoming meets End-of-Year-Awards meets Talent Show. In between various talent acts, including a dance from the Puna region, a poetry recital and a scene enactment from Romeo and Juliet, the staff handed out certificates recognizing academic achievement. The Sunday before, the school had crowned three “Queens” who marched at the front of the parade that went around the town square (also on Sunday). Throughout the week, there were also small events happening in honor of the anniversary.

After the hour and a half assembly that was supposed to begin at 9AM, but promptly began at 10:45AM, the students all flocked to the gates and eagerly rushed home. The teachers then invited me to a celebratory lunch, something I couldn’t turn down.

I squeezed into a mototaxi with two professors that I hadn’t met before. We made really small talk, but mostly were silent for our 2 minute ride to the restaurant. I got out, sweating a bit and making note of the tienda across the street from the restaurant. I needed to put credit on my phone to text my host sister that I wouldn’t be home for lunch.

I found my socia in the restaurant, let her know I made it, and quickly excused myself to go buy phone credit. After texting my host sister, I took a seat and smiled politely at those around me. I soaked in the next few minutes, where I was allowed to be a bit of a wallflower and just watch as the teachers and staff trickled into the restaurant.

Suddenly, the Director (Principal) sat down next to me with an Inca Kola (a type of soda) bottle. He poured a little into a cup for one of the assistant principals and then turned to me.

“¿Sabes que es Brendis?” he asked.

“¿El alcohol?” I responded.

He stared at me like I didn’t know what I was talking about, poured me a glass and insisted I try it. A bit worried, I picked up the glass and took a sip. As I felt the burning sensation against my tongue and throat, I tilted my glass back and downed the rest as quickly as possible. Which, either amused those around me or earned their respect.

The music grew louder and became a focal point, rather than an ambient sound. The Director asked teachers one by one to dance, as do a few of the other key male staff. Everyone began clapping, though not with the rhythm and in different patterns. Suddenly, I’m called out to the dance floor and spend the next two songs dancing hand in hand with two different professors. The music died down a bit as the waitress began bringing out beverages for the whole table. Everyone wass served the signature Peruvian drink, Pisco Sour. I am also one of four people served something in a blue shot glass. My socia and the two assistant principals lift up the blue shot glasses, we cheers and drank. This time, it’s a sweeter brandy that went down much smoother.

Somehow, in less than 30 minutes, I had been tricked into taking two shots of brandy, at a lunch event.

And that was just the beginning.

Shortly after our second shot of brandy, we all stood up as the Director gave a toast to Julio Ponce. We cheers and drank our Pisco Sours, which were actually quite refreshing. We then sat down as the waitress was now serving us heaping plates of ceviche, three types of potatoes, and two types of corn.

Now, if you knew me in the States, you knew that I didn’t really like fish. Or never chose to eat it. Which was somewhat ironic as I was the Marketing Director for a chain of sushi restaurants. In Peru, I’ve gone with the flow and eaten my share of fish—fried fish, fish on the bone, fish with scales, fish sandwiches (for breakfast). But, this was my first plate of ceviche, and all Peruvians claim that Peruvian ceviche is the best. While it didn’t disappoint, I felt a bit like I was eating a whole lime.

I powered through the plate of ceviche, not wanting to show poor manners by leaving anything left. I should have known though that it was only the appetizer. My mind raced as I heard one of the assistant principals say she would prefer the Rocotto Relleno next year, something I know is only ever served as the appetizer.

Sure enough, the waitress came back, bringing out larger plates full of pork, chick peas, rice, avocado and tomato. She then also passed out small bottles of soda.

“How am I going to eat this?” I thought as I stared at my plate.

I started cutting the meat, and shoveling what I could into my mouth. I was relieved after a few minutes when some of the others say that they too cannot finish all of their food. Others, some smaller than me, cleaned their plates. Throughout the meal, the assistant principals ensured that my glass was not empty. Luckily, this only meant beer and not hard liquor.

As we finished the meal, the waitress brought out a purple colored drink in jars. Thinking that this was chicha morada, a sweet purple corn juice, a professor poured a few of us large glasses. Unfortunately, this was not chicha morada, but wine. And we realized that we were all now stuck with giant glasses of a very, very sweet wine.

By 3PM, we had danced, eaten and drunk. But, the celebration wasn’t over. I excused myself to the bathroom and came back to find all the chairs had been arranged in a circle and people dancing in the middle. I took a seat where my belongings were but was quickly called to another seat. On my way to my new seat, a professor whom I just started teaching English with, gave me yet another glass of brandy, this time chilled and with ice.

I walked through the dancing circle and took a seat next to the Sister, who is also a professor at the public school. She offered me a Coca Cola and, with sudden shame, I showed her the almost full brandy glass that I had just received. She didn’t say anything, just put the Coca Cola back down and returned to messaging someone on her iPad.

I found myself looking at my watch, wondering when I could excuse myself to leave while simultaneously hoping the lunch would end soon. Time crept by as I watched the professors dance, danced a bit myself, and entertained a 3-year-old girl (easy to do when she’s just curious why you look so different than everyone else).

At 4:30, I hopped out of my seat, found my socia, said my good-byes and slinked out of the restaurant, hoping that not many people would notice. It didn’t seem like the party would end anytime soon and I didn’t want to be guilted into staying.