Inca Kola

I put on scrub pants to protect my legs from mosquitoes, grabbed my Bible, Spanish hymnal, and a candle, and followed John, Ryan, and Jackson out the door. It was a dim and cloudy night, no stars to light our way.

We walked a kilometer in the direction of Campo Verde to the neighbors' house. About six or seven adults and a handful of children were gathered around a big table, lit by candlelight. We had to work our way around the table, shaking hands and kissing cheeks until each person was properly greeted.

I sat down on a sketchy little bench and pulled an old bookmark from my Bible. I lit my candle on Bria's candle, dripped some melting wax in a puddle on the bookmark, then sat the candle upright in the cooling wax to make a candleholder, so the thin candle wouldn't tip over.

A older Peruvian gentleman led out the prayer meeting. We had personal testimonies, a lesson read from the Bible, and an assigned memory verse, then several prayers.

After the closing hymn and one last prayer we sat around and chatted politely for awhile. I was giving knowing looks to John and Jackson that meant, "Okay, let's start looking like we're leaving," when the sisters start bringing out food. It was 9:00 at night and I had brushed my teeth two hours before, but what could we do?

They passed around a plate of dense and mildly flavored cake, then poured us cups of the worst soda I've ever had in my life. It's called Inca Kola, and not only is it warm and lemon yellow, but it tastes just like bubble gum. The bubble gum flavor always burns back up my throat in little burbs.

Everyone in Perú loves Inca Kola, it's the famous Peruvian gaseosa, and serving soda to your guests is considered more classy than jungle juice or lemonade.

I'd take jungle juice anyday.