Mission Rabies Peru: The Finish Line

Day Five

I'm a day late (and a dollar short, yes, I know), but I'm still basking in the afterglow of what turned out to be a really terrific week.

The project is over, and in about 24 hours I'll be on a plane back to New York.

The final day always has a different feel to it. There's excitement because you're close to the finish line, but there's also that bittersweet realization that this little community you've built over the past week is about to scatter across the globe once again.

We made one last stop at The Hub, loading our coolers with vaccine vials, grabbing boxes of syringes, vaccination cards, and all the other supplies that had become so familiar over the previous four days.

Outside, our driver, Erich, was waiting for us. Jessica, Amber, Viviana, and I piled into the car, Erich turned the key, and AC/DC's Thunderstruck blasted through the speakers. Oh yeah. This was going to be a good day.

The morning was more of the same—walking dusty roads, climbing over rocks, knocking on doors, and vaccinating dogs. By now my body had accepted its fate, even if my knees hadn’t quite yet.

One welcome surprise was that we were joined by a woman from the Ministry of Health who spoke (heavily accented, but fluent) English. Not only could I finally have a normal conversation with someone during the workday, but she became a living version of Google Translate, helping Jessica and me communicate without having to constantly whip out our phones.

Our focus is always dogs, but we'll happily vaccinate cats when the opportunity arises. Famous last words. A young boy was holding his cat while I gave the rabies vaccine. The instant the cat vocally protested, the boy loosened his grip just enough for it to launch itself into orbit. On the way past, two rear claws barely punctured my skin.

And just like that...I became this week's newest recipient of a rabies post-exposure vaccination.

Fortunately, the project had already planned to return Amber to the clinic that afternoon for her own second post-exposure vaccine, so I simply joined the trip. The staff cleaned the scratches, gave me my first vaccine, prescribed a few days of antibiotics, and reminded me that I'd need my second dose after I got back to New York. These are the occupational hazards that I'm very familiar with.  In Mission Rabies Ghana 2020, I got bitten by a dog and received two post-exposure vaccines there.  Then in Mission Rabies Tanzania 2021, I got scratched by a kitten, and received two post-exposure vaccines.  My antibody level is so high that you could sell my serum for money on the black market. Still, protocol is protocol.  

After lunch we worked one final residential neighborhood before heading back to The Hub. Then came the hardest part of the day. Saying goodbye.

When Jessica and I first met, we had almost no common language. Aside from a few words of Spanish and English, our conversations depended almost entirely on Google Translate. It didn't matter. Over the course of the week, we somehow managed to talk about our families, our work, our lives, and countless other things. It's remarkable how quickly two complete strangers from different countries and different cultures can become genuine friends simply by working toward the same goal.

The same was true of Viviana, Amber, Erich, and really everyone on the team. A week earlier they were strangers. Now they felt like friends.

That evening, the entire volunteer group walked together from the hotel to Waya Restaurant overlooking Arequipa's beautiful Plaza de Armas. As the sun went down, we raised our glasses of pisco sours (or passion fruit sours) while the project leaders thanked everyone for making the campaign such a success. The local volunteers responded with speeches in Spanish that, by the end of the week, many of us could actually understand surprisingly well.

Then came the awards. There were prizes for the team that vaccinated the most dogs, the team that vaccinated the most cats, and the team that covered the most ground. (One group walked an amazing 53 kilometers this week.) Then Ben announced the photography award for the best photo submitted to the group chat. He said they'd narrowed it down to three photos, "and all three were Arnie's." My prize? A tiny finger-puppet chicken.

It may not sound like much, but I was genuinely touched. Throughout the week, so many people told me how much they'd enjoyed my photographs. Being able to contribute to the project not only as a veterinarian, but also as the unofficial photographer, made the experience even more meaningful.

The rest of the evening passed the way these evenings always do, with good food, stories from the week, lots of laughter, and the inevitable goodbyes. It's amazing, really. You fly thousands of miles to another country, meet twenty-five complete strangers, and a week later you leave with twenty-five new friends.

As I walked back from the restaurant through the quiet streets of Arequipa that night, I found myself thinking about how fortunate I am. Most visitors come here and see the beautiful Plaza de Armas, the churches, the restaurants, and the volcanoes. I got to see those things too.

But I also got to see the neighborhoods on the outskirts of the city—the dusty roads, the unfinished buildings, the corrugated metal, the cactus, the bricks, the boulders, and the endless clouds of dust kicked up by passing cars. They're places no tourist would ever think to visit. Yet people have built lives there. They've raised families there. And almost every family has a dog. They love those dogs every bit as much as we love ours.

Being invited into those neighborhoods is a privilege. Being able to help protect both those dogs and the people who love them is an honor.

When I think about the early mornings, the sore knees, the aching back, the dust, the heat, and all those Advil tablets... I'd do it all again. In fact, I probably will.

Every year I finish one of these projects by saying, "I think this might be my last Mission Rabies campaign." Who am I kidding? The travel. The people. The dogs. The photography. The friendships. It somehow combines nearly everything I love into one unforgettable week. I'll keep doing this for as long as my body allows.

And finally...the number you've all been waiting for.

Our goal: 6,000 dogs vaccinated.

Our final total: 6,423 dogs.

We didn't just meet the goal. We smashed it.

Thank you to everyone who have been following these posts. I hope they gave you a little glimpse into why this work means so much to me.

Until the next Mission Rabies adventure...