Back in the Yellow Shirt (Again): It's Mission Rabies... Peru!

I was pretty sure I was done.

After my last Mission Rabies project in Tanzania this past September (my fifth overall), I had convinced myself that it was time to hang it up. There was a certain ceremony to it. I handed off my well-worn yellow Mission Rabies wristband to a younger volunteer, donated my shirts back to the organization, and flew home thinking I had closed that life chapter.

And then, of course, the email arrived.

A new project. A new continent. South America this time. Arequipa, Peru.

Sigh. So much for retirement.

Mission Rabies operates on a deceptively simple idea: vaccinate dogs to eliminate rabies at its source. It’s not glamorous work, but it’s extraordinarily effective. Rabies is still one of the deadliest viruses on the planet; once symptoms appear, it’s essentially 100% fatal. And yet, it’s also entirely preventable.

In places where rabies is still endemic, the vast majority of human cases come from dog bites. Vaccinate about 70% of the dog population, and the virus runs out of places to go. That’s not just theory. It’s been proven, repeatedly, in real-world campaigns.

What makes Mission Rabies unique is the discipline behind the effort. Every vaccination is logged. Every street is mapped. Every gap in coverage is tracked and revisited. It is public health stripped down to its essentials: data, consistency, and a lot of walking.

I’ve seen firsthand how well it works. On past projects, we’ve vaccinated thousands of dogs in a matter of days. In Goa, India, sustained campaigns have driven human rabies deaths to zero. It’s one of those rare things where you can actually point to the outcome and say, this truly made a difference.

So why come back?

Part of it is the work itself: long days, unpredictable conditions, and the quiet satisfaction of knowing you’ve contributed to something meaningful. But it’s also everything around it. The teams are made up of people who are smart, curious, generous, and just adventurous enough to sign up for something like this.

There’s a tempo to the days: early starts, dusty streets, cautious dogs, grateful owners, cool photos, and the inevitable end-of-day stories over dinner.

And then there are the small moments, the ones that stick with you. The baskets full of puppies. The helpful, good-natured kids who bring you the dogs, then stick around and brighten the day. The grateful woman who offers tea to everyone. A community that, little by little, becomes safer.

This upcoming project in Arequipa will be shorter—just a week—but I’m sure no less intense. We’ll be working alongside local teams, setting up vaccination points and going door to door, aiming to reach that critical threshold that makes all the difference. The days will be long, the terrain unfamiliar, and the outcome, as always, a bit unpredictable. That’s part of the appeal. And, of course, the satisfaction of knowing you left the place in better shape than when you got there.

Because every vaccinated dog matters. Each one is a small break in the chain. Get enough of those breaks, and eventually the chain just stops.

Apparently, I’m not quite ready to walk away from that just yet.

Let the adventure begin!