Here at the Corner of Death

Ayacucho is everything. 

In Quechua, (the indigenous local language here in Peru), aya means death, cucho means corner. I'm literally at the corner of death. This is Peru, a beautiful whirlwind of smells and sounds and the cutest children in the world. Markets and shops and churches and crafts and food and dancing. Ayacucho is what I imagined Peru to be, finally away from the shuffling, hustle and bustle of Lima, homes scatter up the mountainsides and I can't help but be reminded of Nepal. Dirt roads and dust flying, cramming into micro busses; to be honest I don't know what's wrong with me, but that stuff just sets my soul on fire. Nothing makes me feel more alive than small rural towns. It makes life feel real, survival and finding food and water real. Breathing at  2,746 meters (9,007 feet) is a real struggle at first. Everything is harder and that much more rewarding. 

I'm not sure what to write, not sure what everyone wants to know. I want to write everything, and then I don't. There is some aspect of my brain that is so fulfilled living in the moment, away from recording everything, I just want to go and see and do. By not writing it all down I feel like maybe it's just mine to keep and cherish, these moments of learning and raw cultural and historic beauty. 

There is so much for me to learn here. So much. Endless academic and life lessons await. 

To be completely honest, and nerdy, I just keep having these moments of pure bliss where I think: holy shit, I'm in Peru, with a whole group of professional anthropologists, forensic and social, historians, philosophers, transitional justice workers, photographers, human rights defenders, constantly surrounded in this back and forth Spanish-English switch on switch off language of attempts at bilingualism. How could this even possibly be my real life? How did I get myself to a position where I can affiliated and associate with such amazing, talented, dedicated people? 

This is a dream come true. 

I've found my people. They exist. I'm not crazy. 

I may not know the final destination I'm in search on but damn this path is beautiful. I wouldn't want to be doing anything else on earth with my life than what I am doing right here, right now. 

I mean did you get to cram into a micro bus next to a Peruvian Anthropologist today? I did. 

I feel alive. A travelers rush, a rush of learning so much and being witness to so many beautiful things, from the work and projects of local people and organizations, to just the sheer beauty of these people and this land. 

This place has a horrific past. It's name in Quechua is some demonic self fulfilling prophecy. And while I am here I talk with many people of the death that took place here, the violence, the human rights abuses in so many forms, I look around and see so much life, so much will for life, and determination to push beyond the past, in search of justice. And while justice may still not have reached Ayacucho, and perhaps it never will, the sunshines brighter than I've ever seen anywhere else in the world. 

Here at the corner of death I see children laughing, and people dancing, and life continuing on despite the pain they have endured, despite the pain we all endure the sun keeps shining, even at the corner of death.