The Ottumwa Courier - Passage to Peru

Mon, Nov 23 2009

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Courier photographer Melissa Carlo sits on a boulder in the Reserva de la Biosfera Huascaran, a national park containing Huascaran, the tallest mountain in the Andes. In the background is glacier-fed Llaguanuco Lake. Photo provided

Determination shows on the face of Nieves Sanchez Yuaman as she waits to see a doctor at the clinic in Vicos, Peru. Courier photo/Melissa Carlo

Dr. David Ruiz checks the eyes of Julia Lazarro as she attempts to describe her symptoms to him in broken Spanish at the clinic in Vicos. Courier photo/Melissa Carlo

A young Quechua mother carrying her child in an "aguayo" drinks water after taking Mebendazole, a parasitic prevention drug at the clinic in Vicos, Peru. Courier photo/Melissa Carlo

A crowd of Quechua wait in line to see the doctors outside the Volunteers in Medical Ministry clinic in the Andean village of Recuayhuanca, Peru. Courier photo/Melissa Carlo

Family medicine resident Lindsay Sherrard, of Greenwood, S.C., administers a steroid injection into the wrist of Rosa Reyes as her sister, Rosa Herrera, waits her turn at the clinic in Vicos, Peru. Courier photo/Melissa Carlo

A Quechua mother with her young daughter talks with a Spanish translator outside of the clinic gates in Vicos, Peru. Courier photo/Melissa Carlo

A young Quechua girl gives a shy smile while waiting outside of the clinic in Recuayhuanca, Peru. Courier photo/Melissa Carlo

A small child looks out from a pile of laundry as his mother scrubs their clothes on a rock at the river's edge. Courier photo/Melissa Carlo

A young Quechua woman smiles and looks away as she sees the photographer's camera while passing by on a dirt road near Vicos, lunch in hand and a stick to drive her pigs. Courier photo/Melissa Carlo

An elderly Quechua woman sits outside of an exam room at the clinic in Vicos, waiting for steroid shots to relieve her arthritis pain. Courier photo/Melissa Carlo

A young boy in the Andes mountain village of Huapra, Peru, reads a Spanish translation of the Bible given to him by Pastor Phil Winfield of Grace Church in Des Moines, while seated outside of a building advertising a presidential candidate. Courier photo/Melissa Carlo

A Quechua woman drives her cow up a narrow mountain path near Vicos, Peru. Courier photo/Melissa Carlo

Two men in a local paneria prepare bread for the wood-fired oven just as they do every morning in Huaraz, Peru. Courier photo/Melissa Carlo

Farm fields against a backdrop of Andes mountains near Huaraz, Peru. Courier photo/Melissa Carlo

Published November 22, 2006 10:11 pm -

Passage to Peru
Courier photographer Melissa Carlo journeys to Peru and discovers the untamed but warm Quechuan culture

By Melissa Carlo Courier Photographer

It has been many months since my trip to Peru and I can still see the mountains taking shape at dawn, smell the bread baking in the local panerias and feel the warmth of the people who have smiles as authentic and bright as the colorful clothing they wear.

I was part of a group of 30 people, including doctors, nurses and medical students from Volunteers in Medical Missions, missionaries and volunteers from Grace Church in Des Moines.

We flew into Lima, boarded a bus overnight into the Cordillera Blanca mountains and set up a clinic, complete with a makeshift pharmacy, operating room and exam rooms in a tiny Andes mountain town called Vicos.

We were there to treat the Quechua (Keh-choo-uh) natives if they came, and come they did by the hundreds each day from all over the surrounding mountain range, some walking for days to reach the clinic.

Although every night we had to close the gates and turn people away, they were back in the morning, some sleeping outside to assure them a place in line. The human spirit to help others is amazing and in the four days the clinic was available we were driven to diagnose and treat more than 2,000 people.

I saw people of all ages, babies to seniors. All of them shared common qualities of patience and genuine thankfulness. I don’t know anyone in the United States who would wait for hours on end without the guarantee of being seen by a doctor to receive health care.

Parasitic vaccinations and distribution of vitamins were standard.

Sometimes it was a simple supply of ibuprofen or acid reflux medicine.

Other times they required surgery or steroid injections for their arthritic joints. Arthritis pain was a common complaint, possibly from a life of constantly climbing up and down mountains to reach their homes and farm fields.

Flat land is very scarce and the extreme terrain coupled with the high altitude made it difficult to walk to neighboring villages just carrying a simple back pack. The natives traveled the same paths and roads we did only they carried children, animals or crops on their backs often in excess of 70 pounds.

The women, layered in wool skirts and tops didn’t think twice about tying a blanket called an “aguayo” around their child and slinging them over their back to walk to town. They have never seen a stroller or a mini van.

The Quechua live somewhat untamed like the Andes they call home.

I admired their spirit and perseverance, working their crops and livestock to have food on the table and provide for their families.

The people I met don’t even know how breathtaking their surroundings are. They have never been anywhere else. They don’t have photographs of the amazing scenery hanging on their mud-brick walls. The images are in their hearts and they live it every day.

Most Quechua are content there as many generations back to their ancestors, the Incas, have been and although to outsiders’ eyes they have very little — in my eyes they have what so many of us are striving to achieve. A life surrounded by people they care about. Every day a sunrise, every evening a sunset, and in between the beauty of a hard day’s work.