The Vulnerability of Companionship
Martin Day:
One cold Wednesday evening in Sullumayo, Professor Julián shared a story with me over ponche de ava— lima bean punch:
Years ago, before Julián taught math and PE in Sullumayo, he was the principal of a primary school in the jungle. It was 3 pm on a Sunday, just like every other week. The convi drops Profe Julián off at the usual stop. He’s about to mark his journey into the jungle— the unknown. Only there’s one difference: Profe Maribel insists on coming. Julián refused to let her come along at least ten times. She has her 1-year-old child Rodrigo with her!? But Maribel stubbornly refuses his denial; he supposes anything is possible. What could go wrong? Despite sweating from the oppressively humid climate, the skies were clear.
Five liters of kerosene, lima beans, potatoes, lentils, sugar, and instant coffee. Check. Julián assures himself that he has all the baggage he needs to live and teach at school for an entire week. Julián, Maribel, and Rodri chop through vines, ferns, and lush foliage in the forest. 2 hours by convi and 6 hours on foot, passing dense undergrowth, rocky outcropping, downed trees, canopy blocking the sun, and mosses. Julián is used to the routine, but he only goes back down to Cusco once a month to visit his family, considering how long it takes to get home to stay for a day and return the next. He knows his way around the selva, or does he? After hiking for a few hours, it begins to pour rain. Oh no. Julián can handle the bitter conditions, but can Maribel and Rodri do so? For the first hour and a half of the storm, Maribel switches between placing Rodri in her unkuña and walking him. She cannot carry the baby for much longer, so Julián places him on his shoulders. It’s roughly 9 pm and getting dark; He doesn’t recognize where he’s at— they are lost.
Julián anxiously realizes that they must have taken the wrong turn hours ago. There’s not much they can do but find shelter for the night. They spot a dimly lit house from a distance. The three approach the home, knock on the door and wait. Nobody answers, but someone has to be home.
Knock, knock, knock.
No answer.
No answer.
What now? Rodri begins to cry hysterically. As despair and anguish crept over Julián, the door slowly creaked open. It’s an elderly couple, reluctant to open their door to strangers this late, but they couldn’t help the sound of an infant crying.
“Buenas Noches. My name is Julián, and I’m the principal of a school in Iquitos. We are looking for a place to sleep tonight as the storm passes. We hate to intrude, but is there any chance we could stay here for the night?”
“Iquitos? I’m sorry, but you are nowhere near there,” the older man responds.
After several minutes of hesitation, the man allows them inside for warmth. However, he did not let them near the living room or bedrooms. He takes Julián and Maribel directly to the kitchen: a dark hut with little warmth from a teeny fire. Mentally and emotionally drained, drenched from head to toe from the storm, Julián takes his pants off and places them over the fire to dry. He does not seem to care what Maribel— a colleague and employee— thinks of seeing him in his underwear. Likewise, she proceeds to do the same, uncovered from articles of clothing except for her underwear—the two cuddle up for warmth, dividing their bodies physically with their backpacks.
At this point, the two were beyond feeling humiliated. Julián and Maribel genuinely understood each other by unpeeling layers of their vulnerable, authentic selves. To Profe Julián, Maribel was no longer a colleague: she was kin.
This is just one story that impacted my understanding of companionship in the inclement conditions these teachers live through, whether in the hot and humid jungle or the high altitudes of Sullumayo. Julián follows his story up, telling me about when he strained his back while picking up a heavy object. Unable to walk for days, he could not perform his daily chores. He could not even change his clothes, at least not on his own. One colleague helped him change outfits every morning and evening, while another did his laundry, and the other cooked for him. These acquaintances were more than colleagues or friends. They were companions.
Just a few days ago, the current principal expressed his family troubles to the entire faculty. He asked Julián to take over in the case of an emergency and if the principal was to take off. That’s what companionship is all about for me. These teachers live in Sullumayo for the entire week and then return to their families in Cusco. Yet, they treat each other as more than friends or family.
At this point, the two were beyond feeling humiliated. Julián and Maribel genuinely understood each other by unpeeling layers of their vulnerable, authentic selves. To Profe Julián, Maribel was no longer a colleague: she was kin.
This is just one story that impacted my understanding of companionship in the inclement conditions these teachers live through, whether in the hot and humid jungle or the high altitudes of Sullumayo. Julián follows his story up, telling me about when he strained his back while picking up a heavy object. Unable to walk for days, he could not perform his daily chores. He could not even change his clothes, at least not on his own. One colleague helped him change outfits every morning and evening, while another did his laundry, and the other cooked for him. These acquaintances were more than colleagues or friends. They were companions.
Just a few days ago, the current principal expressed his family troubles to the entire faculty. He asked Julián to take over in the case of an emergency and if the principal was to take off. That’s what companionship is all about for me. These teachers live in Sullumayo for the entire week and then return to their families in Cusco. Yet, they treat each other as more than friends or family.
When I first arrived in Peru and found myself huddled in a sleeping bag on a gym mat in a classroom, I wondered why and how anybody could do this for a living? Now, I realize, as Julián tells me, that these teachers value their friendships with each other more just as much as they value their families. I could not believe it, yet it made so much sense.
That still did not entirely answer my other question, “How could anybody sacrifice so much to teach in a small community in a desolate landscape?” Profe Cristabel responded to that question for me over the ritual of chewing coca leaves with fellow companions/interns Julianna and Olivia. Cristabel, the language and communications teacher who teaches Spanish, Quechua, and English, described her long-term relationships with students. Every year, on Mother’s Day, her birthday, and National Teacher’s Day, she receives hundreds of messages from her ex-students. Students from 15 years ago and as recent as last year give her updates on their careers. These messages of love are signs of God’s presence. How did she foster such deep relationships with her students, I wondered. She told me how she always took her students on field trips to the beach, forest, or parks, emphasizing the importance of letting them see the real world how it is.
The professors in Sullumayo are one-of-a-kind. They love to keep their students engaged through games and activities that stimulate their brains. Also, they always give their students the benefit of the doubt, understanding them when they are exhausted from the two-hour walk to school every morning.
Julián says, “algunos profesores trabajan por vocación, y otros por ocasión,” or, “some teachers work for vocation, and others for the occasion.” Anybody can accompany another, but it takes someone unique and patient to teach.
That still did not entirely answer my other question, “How could anybody sacrifice so much to teach in a small community in a desolate landscape?” Profe Cristabel responded to that question for me over the ritual of chewing coca leaves with fellow companions/interns Julianna and Olivia. Cristabel, the language and communications teacher who teaches Spanish, Quechua, and English, described her long-term relationships with students. Every year, on Mother’s Day, her birthday, and National Teacher’s Day, she receives hundreds of messages from her ex-students. Students from 15 years ago and as recent as last year give her updates on their careers. These messages of love are signs of God’s presence. How did she foster such deep relationships with her students, I wondered. She told me how she always took her students on field trips to the beach, forest, or parks, emphasizing the importance of letting them see the real world how it is.
The professors in Sullumayo are one-of-a-kind. They love to keep their students engaged through games and activities that stimulate their brains. Also, they always give their students the benefit of the doubt, understanding them when they are exhausted from the two-hour walk to school every morning.
Julián says, “algunos profesores trabajan por vocación, y otros por ocasión,” or, “some teachers work for vocation, and others for the occasion.” Anybody can accompany another, but it takes someone unique and patient to teach.
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