4/13-14/11
Sitting in the cramped corner of a tiny, dusty archive in a broken chair with a stack of papers as a desk, I realized something about myself: I have a mathematical mind without a head for numbers. I realized that the reason I like history is that there is a definitive answer. Sure, historians argue and disagree, but there is an overall understanding and set interpretation of events. That interpretation might be wrong entirely because history is, afterall, written by the victors, but at least there is something that seems like a set answer most of the time. Current events, on the other hand, drive me nuts. Everyone puts in their two cents and their own opinions creating a climate of confusion when all I want to know is what is going on. That’s what I always crave from the news, a clear answer. I’m realizing more and more how much the adult world lacks clear answers and how often you really need to figure it out for yourself and live with the mistakes you make. Not a world for perfectionists!
So, about those archives. Wednesday the 13th was a bit of a bust, but I went to the defensoría del pueblo and looked at archived copies of a newspaper called El Diario. I felt overwhelmed. I took the Metropolitano to the center for the first time with Lauren and figured out where to go to find Caretas. It is literally in the plaza de armas in the center across the way from the Palacio del Gobierno and the Cathedral.This topic is so huge. I freaked out several times that day and emailed Sonia and Jacqueline several times, and they did what they could to help me. I ended Wednesday night feeling very homesick and worried, despairing about my project, about how much I wanted to go home, and disappointed with myself.
Thursday the 14th: I woke up early, around 7:30, and prepared to go to the archives of Caretas for the first time. Everyone else in my house has made such progress meeting with people and going out into the city, but I haven’t felt like I’ve achieved any of that. Thursday was the first time that I felt I really went out there, into Lima, on my own and met people on my own. I took the crammed Metropolitano in the morning rush, walked a couple blocks from the Jiron de la Union stop by the Metro to the center, and stopped to rest at a bench in the plaza. I sat to collect my passport from my backpack and to arrange myself for this. I didn’t know what to expect! I went to the discreet front door (however discreet a gold door can be) and explained that I’m a student doing a research project. I requested to be let into the archives. The man at the front took my passport, then directed me to the second floor. I went up narrow, colorful stairs and found a secretary on the second floor. She told me that I needed to go up one more flight. So I turned around and went up one more set of ill-lit stairs. However, when I arrived on the small, quiet landing I did a full circle and found no archives. I also found no people. On the left I saw a small elevator with a red door, ahead a door that said only authorized people allowed, a small rickety couch and closed doors to my right. What to do what to do. I sat down and pondered, hoping someone would appear with a sign proclaiming, “ARCHIVES!”…but sadly that did not happen. I plucked up my courage and knocked on the door straight ahead.
A man with a pock-marked face answered me as I stuck me head through the door. I explained my project to him, and to my surprise he seemed to blink without recognition when I mentioned the armed internal conflict. “You mean terrorism?” her asked. She he had me sit back down on the rickety bench as he went to retrieve some files for me. I sat and waited quietly for a good half hour before he returned with a large stack of disorganized files about terrorism in the 80s and Uchuraccay. I sat on the couch reading for a while before they invited me to sit in the archives themselves. Well, sort of. There’s a large-ish table at the back, but they were holding a meeting, so I sat in the tiny room in the front within about a foot and a half of a young guy named Miguel. If you can imagine an old desk chair with the seating crumbling apart, that’s what I sat on. I repeatedly had to jump out of the way because I sat directly in front of two bookshelves and there was zero floor space for people to skirt around me. I also had to spring out of the way to let a janitor sweep, then mop the floor. Lima is a very dusty place and the archives are correspondingly dusty. Then again, I think archives are always dusty.
So about Miguel. Oy, he’s chatty and a journalism student. He wouldn’t leave me alone for a while, which I dearly wanted because my time in the archives is so limited. Peruvian men are so forward. Within minutes he had asked my first and last name, where I was from, my phone number, where I live in Lima, if I wanted to go to lunch, what I am doing in the archives… etc. I politely declined. I’ve discussed with Lauren before how, speaking in Spanish, we act far more politely than we maybe should at all times. Then again, I’m never polite to the people sticking tickets in your face in the plaza de armas in cusco. I hate those guys and I’d sooner yell at them, which I have actually done before. Even though I found Miguel distracting, it was nice to actually speak in Spanish, which I haven’t really been able to do since coming to Lima.
If I’d written this post days ago as I should have done, the tone would be very different. Today I feel calm, but at that point I felt incredibly frustrated and annoyed. The main reason for this was Peruvian institutions and their lack of CLEAR ANSWERS. One person would tell me that I could photocopy articles, another person would tell me that there was no photocopier, another would tell me it was free with a photocopier from another area, another would tell me that it cost 50 cents per page. I asked if the archives would be open next week during semana santa: One person told me, “of course! We’re the news, we never close,” another told me that they’d be open Monday but no other day, and another told me that they’d be open. I eventually found out that they will, in fact, be closed. Come on people! This is where you WORK! Why don’t you know these things? I asked if I could photograph articles instead of photocopying since I can’t spend that much money: Two people said of course, another told me that it was absolutely prohibited and that I’d have to pay anyways and that the people at the front door would take my camera and delete all of the pictures on it….. I just took discreet photos after that. This country lacks any clear answers! I can comply easily if only people tell me how I’m supposed to behave! Urgh. Very frustrating.
xoxo,
Claire
No comments:
Post a Comment