Los Heraldos Negros

Hello EquipoPeru Readers,

This is the second day of our adventure here in Cuzco, Peru. We are finally conquering the demons of altitude sickness. The past couple days have been full of moments of SOB, heart palpitations and slight frostbite. Happily, we are now slightly more acclimated, or at least acclimated enough to eat a three-feet-diameter pizza without our lungs gasping for fresh air and hearts attempting to escape our chests. I am so blessed to have Monsy, Annelys, Marilyn and Veronica here. I cannot imagine being here with a different group of people, for we all seem to work as a well orchestrated symphony that is little by little plaguing the streets of Cuzco with its music.

Today was our first day at the clinic. I cannot imagine how anything could have mentally prepared me for the clinical cases we saw this morning. I am not quite speechless, but I don’t think I can articulate the experience while giving it proper credit. So I will instead allow you to read a fragment of Peruvian poet Cesar Vallejo’s work, which I believe depicts an accurate portrait of what this people go through.

LOS HERALDOS NEGROS by Cesar Vallejo

The Black Heralds

Serán tal vez los potros de bárbaros atilas;

o los heraldos negros que nos manda la Muerte.

Perhaps they are the colts of barbaric Attilas;
or the black heralds sent to us by Death.

Son las caídas hondas de los Cristos del alma,

de alguna fe adorable que el Destino blasfema.

Esos golpes sangrientos son las crepitaciones

de algún pan que en la puerta del horno se nos quema.

They are the deep falls of the Christs of the soul,
of some adored faith blasphemed by Destiny.
Those bloodstained blows are the crackling of
bread burning up at the oven door.

Y el hombre... Pobre... pobre! Vuelve los ojos, como

cuando por sobre el hombro nos llama una palmada;

vuelve los ojos locos, y todo lo vivido

se empoza, como un charco de culpa, en la mirada.

And man . . . Poor . . . poor! He turns his eyes, as
when a slap on the shoulder summons us;
turns his crazed eyes, and everything lived
wells up, like a pool of guilt, in his look.

Hay golpes en la vida, tan fuertes ... Yo no sé!

There are blows in life, so powerful . . . I don’t know!

If you are reading this, I want you to know that we all are so very blessed. If you feel like the sky is getting darker and darker by the second, worry not for there is always help on the way. So hold on tight. That’s all I wanted to share for today.

-Erick