it´s christmas time, a desperate time of year

La Navidad is in 5 days. That means only 5 more days left to sell as many candies, street food, wallets, burned dvds, soda, gum, or ice cream as you can. 5 more days left until the deadline of your assignment: to buy panetón for your family to eat, chocolate and milk to drink, and presents for the children.

I´ve been to Piura, the City, way too often these days. The smell of desperation permeates the sun-baked air. It´s a stifling reminder of the poverty surrounding me. At a time when street kids should be excitedly writing letters to Santa, they are knocking on my taxi window with their little boxes of gum to sell. Every time I go, the choking sensation feels worse. More people tapping on my shoulder, more items shoved in the foreigner´s face, more and more desperation confronting me. How different it would feel if I were in the United States.

I´m scared to go back to Piura. In the newspapers, I read about the increase of robberies, shootings, threats, fires, and other sensationalist items that are tricking me into thinking the world is a lot crueller than it really is.

At 4:30PM on Saturday, I boarded a bus after asking the guy who hustles customers and collects money (the cobrador) whether it´s going to Sechura. He hustled me on board. As we left, I was engrossed in my first Newsweek magazine that I get for free from Peace Corps. I excitedly read about Evo Morales, Bolivia´s future president. I am excited -- Latin America´s first 100% indigenous president with a rational-sounding socialist slant. 45 minutes later, I look up and I´m in Sullana. Wrong way. "Te engañó," says my host family. "He deceived you." All for a measly S/.1.50. The friendly couple sitting in front of me hustle me onto a return bus right after I get off.

Waiting for the RIGHT bus at 6:15 in Piura, I met a girl who lives in my municipality. She told me she´s 14 but she seems more like 12. Tiny, probably malnourished. She asks me question after question, the standard questions everyone asks me when we first meet, but more. She seems smart. She is. On the crowded bus ride that we finally catch after waiting for 40 minutes, I hear the cobrador argue with the people in the back that the fare is S/.3.00, not 1. I look back, and realize he´s arguing with my new little friend, completely hidden behind the huge floral funeral wreath that belongs to the old woman next to her. The cobrador is unable to convince her to cough up 2 more soles. I feel embarrassed for her, and want to pay the remaining 2. It´s in my pocket. But I´m held back by the advice we received during training: once you start acting as a sugar daddy, people won´t stop. You´re not here to help people with your money. We get off the bus together, me and my smart little friend. The cobrador gets our stuff off the roof and still argues with her about the remaining 2/3 of her fare. I guess I could have paid then. That night, I debated this until I fell asleep. But it´s one of those split-second decisions you´re forced to make either because of how fast it happens or because of your deliberate stubborn decision to not intervene. Whichever you choose to believe. Whichever makes you feel less guilty.