Before we leave the
village
of
Quelqanqa
, we take one last tour of the sites laying (quite physical) tribute to
the successes of our manual labor. We walk down the valley to visit the
new stone bridge and draw our names in a small patch of its still-soft
cement. And then we turn around and follow a mile of trenching up
towards the reservoir, stopping at one of the houses along the way to,
ceremonially, turn on the tap for the first time.
As I strap and snap myself into my backpack and
double-knot the laces of my boots, I recognize that I am- all at once -
dirty, satisfied, exhausted, excited and ready and sad to leave. I
can't avoid the allusion to the trip being a mountain range of
emotions; physical symptoms, energy levels and sentiments that have
risen and descended in just as dramatic elevations as those we've
climbed.
There is a final Andean value which is appropriate, now, to introduce: ayni. Ayni
refers to reciprocity and the exchange of kindness, knowledge and/or
labor between humans, nature, spirits and the environment.
We name it a "bridge", or a "reservoir", or a "community service
project", but its physical form -- of concrete or water or stone – is
never as important as its function as a channel. And I am very happy to
borrow such a nice little word to name that channel and call it
both the essence and highlight of my adventure in
Peru: the exchange of kindness, between humans, nature, spirit and the environment.
On my plane back home from
Peru, the flight attendant passes a UNICEF donation tin down the isles and
through the passengers. And as the coins jangle and make empty sounds
in the metal bin, I can't help but hear an absence of ayni in the
transaction. Had we written a check, we could have probably still left
a stone bridge in Quelqanqa. Less physically quantifiable, but equally
emotionally valuable, was that fact that a group of strangers, via a
simple united
task, built a bridge connecting foreign peoples and cultures. A bridge
that
recognized some of our similarities and over which
mutual admiration and
respect was exchanged. And so, along with the crushed remains of
coca leaves that I unknowingly pass through customs, I consider this the most valuable thing that I take home from
Peru.
