Saturday, March 27, 2010

mas pictures!

1: what a letrine looks like pre-losa (losa is a letrine floor)
2: letrine minus the walls
3: and this is how you use a letrine



pictures!

1: my hair after riding in the back of a truck
2: motos at the futbol game
3: all the men watching the futbol game
4: sunset
5: me digging a letrine hole with a bowl










ok, a quick explanation of the previous pictures on the last post..
like i said, the wierd brick structure is a fogon, which is a brick oven and those stalactite looking things are ash hanging from the ceiling. that is what happens when paraguayan women cook over fire and don´t use a fogon and then they end up breathing in all that gross stuff.
the water picture is water leaking into the bus during a storm..

and an explanation of the pictures in this post..
1: flash flood
2: yes, those are speakers on a truck
3: chipa man!
4:sad, cold, hungry, and rained out
5: my paraguayan sisters

Scared of the rain, but serious about fútbol

So I knew Paraguay was serious about soccer, or fútbol, as they call it here, but I didn’t realize what that meant until I started playing with 7 and 8 year olds who are better than me. And by better than me I mean they have moves that make me feel like I’m just filling up space on the field. They dance around the ball and get it down the field while I’m still standing there just trying to keep my eye on the ball and that’s after the goalie that comes up to my waist kicks it all the way across the field and two or three kids hit it with their heads to pass it. I feel like they are all born with some sort of fútbol intuition or instinct and us Americans really only play with them because we have some sort of celebrity status and they like to hang out with us. Also, if you want to get into a long, serious, and most likely heated discussion, ask a Paraguayan which professional team in Paraguay they support, Cero, or Olympia. You might get answers like “because they have black and white uniforms” or “the other team is all ugly” as well as reasons like one team has money and the other is the underdog. Whatever reason they have picked to support their team, they will defend that team to the death and they are as serious about supporting their team as serious as they are about drinking tereré every day.

In addition to supporting their professional teams, there is an enormous support for local teams, most of which are named after dates that have some political or religious meaning. Our community team is named 8 de diciembre and now that season has started, they will be playing games every week for the next 10 weeks. Last week was the beginning of season and there was a huge opening ceremony in Villeta, a nearby city and all 18 of the jounior teams were supposed to be presented parade style on the field. Our community had a special bus come through just to take us and our team to the field because so many people were going. It had looked like it might rain all day, but people kept saying “no, no, it will pass, it’s not going to rain.” About 5 minutes before the presentation was going to start, my family practically dragged me and a couple other trainees from the bleachers to edge of the field because they had finally realized that it really was going to rain.

Now before I continue the rest of the story, I have to explain something about Paraguayans and rain. They might tell you all day that it will rain or that it won’t rain and sound like they are absolutely sure of it even if they really don’t know what they’re talking about. I swear though, they have a sixth sense with the rain, because even if they have been telling you for the last hour that it won’t rain, about 60 second before it starts raining they run out and grab all their laundry hanging out to dry so it doesn’t get wet. They will wait until the last second before they bring the laundry in, but I have never seen someone grab all their laundry and then not rain, if they bring in the laundry, it rains. And usually in Paraguay when it rains, it rains really hard… like really, really heavy rain with big fat drops and there is usually thunderstorms. Oh, and when I say thunderstorms, I mean louder than normal thunder and it sometimes feels like it’s right over you even if it’s miles away. Paraguayans also have this weird fear of rain, or actually weather in general, so when it starts to rain, they all run inside, literally, and turn off all electric appliances because they also have this weird fear of being struck by lightning and then they just sit there until the rain stops.

So when my family practically ran down the bleachers, they ran because they knew it was going to start raining within the next 2 minutes because they have that weird instinct/timer system. As it started to rain, the wind also picked up and we soon realized that if we didn’t find shelter soon, we would be drenched, so my family ran to the campo bus that had driven us there. We proceeded to watch from the inside of the bus the worst storm I have thus far experienced in Paraguay. The thunder was so loud it was scaring half the people on the bus, and the wind was so strong trees looked like they would fall over and we had rain making puddles in our bus because half the windows were of course leaking. The storm lasted for about 40 minutes and after people had changed their minds about 5 times about whether we were going to stay or not, and whether the presentation was going to continue or not, we all filed back onto the bleachers and waited another half an hour before the parade started. Half the people had found somewhere to be protected from the rain, and the other half were soaked and there were rivers flowing down the streets. About 3 minutes into the parade of teams, it started sprinkling again, and over the next half an hour, neither the weather or the people watching the parade could decide their course of action. It kind of sprinkled and kind of stopped and people climbed up and down the bleachers and walked into some sort of shelter from the rain and then back again. I think I climbed up and down the bleachers about 5 times in that half hour because my sisters didn’t know what they wanted to do. The fact that people had even stuck it out just to watch all the teams walk by, considering their fear of getting wet, was actually quite impressive to me. I thought it showed how dedicated they are to their local team and to the sport in general.

There had been a game scheduled, but whether the field was too soaked to play or because they somehow knew it was going to rain again, they decided to cancel the game. So after the parade was finally over, we all piled back on the bus and it almost immediately started raining again… hard. Team 8 was exhilarated, whether it was from being dripping wet from the rain or from the thrilling parade of teams and they began to sing at the top of their lungs for the entire 30 minute bus ride back home. While the thunder was cracking so loud that mothers were putting their hands over their ears, our wonderful boys belted out, “¡olé, olé, olé, olá! ¡Ocho!”

pictures!

that weird brick structure is a fogon by the way





long field: long week

This last week was “long field” for all the trainees which means that we went in groups of 5 with a language teacher to go visit a current volunteer for a week to do construction projects and charlas, etc. (Charlas are talks or presentations usually in schools) Long field was definitely the longest week I have had here, and while it would take a week to fully explain the details, maybe I can give you a taste of why it was so long for me…
Day 1: We arrived and it was pouring rain, which means that our plans for the week might or might not be completely changed because we can’t do anything in the rain. My host family for the week did not have a light in their bathroom, so they put up a lantern so I could see. Before I was done showering, the lantern exploded, dumping gasoline all over my towel, my clothes fell on the wet floor, and water started shooting out of the wall from behind the lantern. (I’m still not sure why this happened) I told the señora there that I had a problem and she came and took the lantern and walked away, leaving me to figure out how to dry myself with a gasoline soaked towel and dress in wet clothes in the dark. And by the way, I had to use that towel for the rest of the week.
Day 2: It rained all morning, and thinking it would be hot all week, I was not prepared for the cold weather so I sat on the porch in shorts and a tshirt for 4 hours. That afternoon it stopped raining and we went an old guys house to start digging a letrine in literally rock hard dirt.
Day 3: We built half a fogón, the corner caved in because the ground was uneven and we had to tear everything down and start all over again. The old man decided he didn’t want his letrine so far from his house, so we were told that we would have to dig the hole all over again. We also decided rather filling in the hole we already dug, which by the way still had water in it from the rain, that we would turn it into a trash pit.
Day 4: By the end of the day, we finished the fogón and I’m praying it doesn’t fall down anytime soon. Three of us did a nutrition charla in Guarani and I didn’t understand pretty much half of what was said. Three of us finished digging the second hole for the letrine and used, I kid you not, a bowl and a shovel to dig, a coke bottle with water for a level that we set on a piece of wood, and a stick to mark the ground. I was so dirty that night I had to rub the top layer of skin off with my towel to get myself completely clean. I also calculated that we walked a total of 2 hours that day back and forth in between houses.
Day 5: We finished laying the losa (floor) for the letrine, packed up and drove home. I never thought I would miss my community and my family so much and was so excited to finally go home.

Saturday, March 20, 2010

Peace Corps: The only dating service that pays YOU!

For those of you who are already jumping to conclusions, let me first say no, I’m not dating, this is just another reflection on the culture. Before I left, many of my friends told me I would find someone in Paraguay and never come back to the United States and I laughed every time I was told that. I also thought that once I left the states I would be freed from people teasing me about finding a boyfriend. Again, like so many other things in this country, I was dead wrong. In one of the first few days of training, our trainers told us they would be shocked (yes, they said shocked) if at least 5 or 6 of us out of our training group of 49 weren’t married by the end of our two years of service. Of course we all started laughing, but after they emphatically insisted it was just short of being a scientific fact, we all started looking around the room trying to figure out which one of us would be the first to go. The jokes and suggestions are not solely exclusive to Americans and I think most of us have gotten more questions from Paraguayans about significant others in the last month and a half than any other thing in our past lives. My host mom and dad have asked me at least three times if I have a boyfriend at home because apparently twice wasn’t enough, and they have told me probably over 7 times that I will find a boyfriend here. It’s almost like they think I’m worried about not having one although I’m not sure how that was ever communicated.

Apparently though, it’s not just my family that wants to see me and every other volunteer find a Paraguayan boyfriend or girlfriend while we are here. Everyone wants to know if you are dating and if you aren’t, they immediately tell you that you will find someone here and they begin “helping” you by suggesting cousins, sisters, brothers, neighbors, and anyone else they think might be suitable for you. Sometimes it doesn’t even matter if you do have a significant other because they will tell you it doesn’t matter anyway and continue suggesting other family members for you to consider. While my dad no longer asks if I have a boyfriend, he continually asks me if I’ve found someone or seen any “churros” which basically translates cute boys. While I think part of him just likes to joke with me particularly because he likes to hear my sarcastic responses, I’m pretty sure he’s partly serious.

While I’m sure my host family would be more than happy to marry me off to a Paraguayan, I’m not really sure who they are considering as viable options. There is of course the 14 year old who yells out “I lohv yuu Aleesohn!” every time he sees me and his wonderful friends have made it their personal mission in life to convince me that he is indeed my boyfriend simply because he says he’s in love with me. Although I continue telling them there is a major age difference, his apparently undying love is affirmed every time I see him or his friends. There is also the hyperactive 5 year old across the street, who also happens to be my cousin, who is friends with me because I play a little soccer with him and don’t get freaked out by his hyperactivity. When I was still new in my community and would pass him on the street, he would usually either yell out an obscenity at me or yell “Adios mi amor!” My sister of course thought that was hilarious and started calling him my boyfriend. Now when my dad teases me about boys, I laugh and tell him that the 5 year old, his nephew, is my novito, or little boyfriend. He always thinks it’s funny and while I think it gives him a further sense of pride of his nephew, he also lays off on insisting that I become interested in a Paraguayan… We’ll see how long that tactic lasts.

Wednesday, March 17, 2010

I think I’ve finally arrived

This weekend we went in small groups to do a “tech-overnight” which meant for me that my group built two fogóns (brick ovens) at a current volunteers site. As we were driving there through the Paraguayan countryside, I was looking at the infinite greenness of the trees and plants that I have come to appreciate so much more than when I first came here, contrasted with the bright red dirt that lines the road. I saw signs flash by, not in my first language, but in a language that I am slowly beginning to understand more. As the scenery flashed by, I all of a sudden had this crazy thought: I’m living in Paraguay, in South America… for two years! It’s actually happening now and I know one day I will look back on the years I spent in this country, probably missing it in many ways, but the thing is, it’s happening in this moment.

I know I’ve already been here for a month, but it has only been recently that I have started to feel at home in this strange, green, sub-tropical country. Recently, I have not felt so strange waking up to hearing roosters crowing and cows mooing and seeing my clothes piled on a chair next to my suitcases (both function as my dresser). I’ve gotten comfortable walking into strange people’s houses and having them immediately jump up to get me a chair and offer me tereré. Today I peed in a hole in the ground that the family uses as a latrine and it didn’t freak me out at all. I took a bucket bath while I was at the volunteer’s site this weekend, and I actually felt like I knew exactly what I was doing. I have also had spiders half the size of my palm crawl into my room and somehow I killed them without totally freaking out and for any of you who have heard of my past stories with spiders, you understand what an accomplishment this was for me. It no longer weirds me out that my sisters interrogate me about my outfit when I go to any special event and for the most part, I humor them and let them tell me what I can and can’t wear to those events. I am also no longer having minor panic attacks when I see my mom start a fire with a plastic bag and just tell myself that people in the states are making more carbon footprints with their cars and electricity than my host mom is by using her plastic trash to start her fire. Although I still don’t like the feeling, I have gotten used to being stared at almost everywhere I go, particularly when I’m doing something they haven’t seen before and I am able to resist the urge of staring back. This weekend I helped build a fogón for a real Paraguayan family and whether I use my now perfected brick-laying skills in my two years of service, there is now tangible evidence that I did something in this country. Sometime this week I had a breakthrough in Spanish and I really can’t give you an exact moment, but I realized I wasn’t working so hard to communicate certain things and I could say others without even thinking.

Of course, I have a language interview again in a few days to test where my language skills are at and I could walk out of there feeling like I couldn’t say anything I wanted to in Spanish, but I think I’m going to hit many of those moments over the next two years. Just when I feel like I’ve begun to master one thing like Spanish, I will have to start all over on something else, like starting to learn Guarani. I also have not yet encountered a tarantula, and might possibly scream and run if I see one, but at least I’ve mastered the art of killing the “medium” sized spiders. In two months, I will have to move into a new community and go through all the feelings of being the stranger all over again. Maybe next week I’ll be frustrated with not being able to speak Guarani and might run away from a spider, but this week for the first time since I’ve been here, I feel like I have really and truly arrived.

Saturday, March 6, 2010

Bucket bathing in the campo

Last weekend all volunteers in training had to go visit a current volunteer at their site to see what the life of a volunteer is like. The trip in and of itself was quite entertaining as it ended with another trainee and me getting a ride from a Paraguayan guy (don’t worry, our volunteer was friends with him and had called in a favor) 40 minutes up the mountain through muddy, roads filled with pot-holes and ruts because the campo bus does not go through the campo when it rains. Oh, and did I mention this was a two-seater, stick-shift truck and somehow we fit the driver, two of us trainees, and two extremely large backpacks inside. I ended up sitting kind of sideways facing the steering wheel with one arm around the other trainee and the other arm falling asleep while the driver kept hitting my leg every time he switched gears. I found the whole thing quite entertaining.
When we finally arrived and went inside I felt like we had arrived in a sanctuary. Both me and the other trainee had gotten up at 5:30, walked half an hour, taken two busses after having waited over an hour for one of them, and stood for over 2 and a half hours on the second bus, not to mention the uncomfortable car ride up the mountain. Our volunteer had comfortable beds for both of us and told us she would cook us American food while we were there. I think I stopped mid-sentence when she pulled out the peanut butter jar and came close to jumping up and hugging her when she told me she had American coffee and a coffee maker. That night we had tacos with cheddar cheese she had brought back from the states and amazing guacamole and I remembered again how much I love real cheddar cheese (which by the way you can not buy in Paraguay).
Now before you go thinking she lives in some snazzy place let me tell you a little bit about her site. She lives in a campo that is 10k away from the nearest city and the bus only comes through her site 3 times a week, unless of course it rains, in which case it’s less than 3 times a week as we had the pleasure of experiencing. She’s also about 6-8k away from any other English speaking people and she lives on a mountain (or at least a mountain in Paraguay terms). No one in her site has running water, so she gets all her water from her well, uses a latrine, and bathes in a bucket. That means that every drop of water from drinking water to water she washes her dishes in and water she uses to brush her teeth has to get pulled up from a bucket in the well. Her latrine was built with the intention of having running water in the next few years, so it is an actual toilet seat and after you go to the bathroom you just pour water down to flush, which makes it pretty close to a normal toilet. The bucket bath was the fun part and after experiencing that, the possibility of not having running water doesn’t freak me out at all anymore. You basically have to squat down on the ground to wash yourself off and the only hard part is making sure you got all the shampoo out of your hair. While this whole daily ritual probably seems insane, it’s really quite simple, and I found it well worth the prize of a constant supply of peanut butter, coffee, and cheddar cheese for the weekend.

That tasted like cow brain

A day or two ago my neighbors killed a cow, a very common, typical event in Paraguay. Then they decided to roast the head for a few hours because Paraguayans tend to be quite resourceful. Although eating the cow head isn’t always very popular, it isn’t totally unusual to cook and head the whole cow head. Since one of the volunteers lives with the family, several of us were invited over to enjoy the spoils, aka roasted cow head. I knew that I at least wanted to see the remains of the cow and watch other people poke around and eat random parts the head of some dead cow, but I really wasn’t sure I wanted to try it. After watching a few people rip off pieces of meat, I decided that as gross as it might be, I might not ever get this opportunity again and how many people get to say they ate a cow head?
I must say, cow tongue actually tastes pretty good and I think that was my favorite part. While a couple of the guys were viciously digging in, I timidly poked around eating a few small bites of meat trying to convince myself not to be completely grossed out. When they started pulling out the eye, I was pretty disgusted, but you know cow eye really doesn’t taste all that bad. For those of you with weak stomachs I won’t go into more detail, but once you get over what it looks like and the rather squishy texture, you can almost convince yourself that you’re eating regular meat. Yes, I’m telling the truth, I ate cow eye and I have pictures to prove it. At that’s not even the end of the story; I also tasted the brain and cow brain tastes like fish. Although the whole experience really wasn’t all that bad, I have no intentions of repeating it, I don’t even typically eat regular cow meat, much less unidentifiable parts that come from it’s head. However, the next time someone asks me, “what’s the strangest thing you’ve ever eaten?” I think I’ll have them beat.

Monday, March 1, 2010

I think our bus definitely almost just hit that moto

So I know a lot of people say that LA drivers are crazy. Let me correct you: LA drivers generally safe drivers who know how to get where they are going fast and follow the laws; Paraguayans are crazy drivers who tend to make their own rules as they drive. As a PCT and PCV, I am not allowed to operate a car or moto (in fact riding on a moto at any time will result in my return to the United States). Because of that, my main mode of transportation is taking the bus, and I used to think that taking the bus in the US sucked. I stand corrected.
First, there usually aren’t official bus stops and instead, you wait by the side of the road and when the right bus comes down the road, you raise your hand in the air to let them know you want on. If you’re lucky, you won’t have to wait long but I have waited for over 45 minutes more than once. If there’s a line of people getting on or off they have to come to a complete stop, but if you’re the only one it’s kind of more of a rolling stop as you step on and they are already stepping on the gas as you’re handing them change and making your way onto the bus. Again, if you’re lucky, there’s an open seat but more than likely, you will have to stand, particularly during “rush hour.”
There really is no “maximum capacity” and they will continue to pack on more people even in 95 degree heat plus humidity. One morning on our way to training 4 of us got on a bus and I honestly wasn’t sure the 4 of us would fit. I was definitely wrong because I think 10 more people got on before anyone else got off. The 4 of us were spooning standing up and one of the girls didn’t even have to hold onto anything it was so crammed. The whole bus experience is further complicated when you’re wearing a backpack not only because it takes up more space, but because you have to wear it on your front so nothing gets stolen in the chaotic mish-mosh of people. When there actually is a little room to breath and move, you have to hold on to rails on the ceiling or onto the seats to keep from falling over.
I thought I had good balance until I got onto a bus in Paraguay. I don’t know how they do it, but I’ve seen many Paraguayans make their way through a bus not holding onto anything and not even come close to falling. More than once, I’ve almost fallen over, even when I’m holding on for dear life because the bus drivers have lead feet and slam on the brakes faster than I used to in LA traffic. It is not uncommon for a bus to drive into the other lane (of oncoming traffic) to pass a car or moto that is driving too slow. Also most intersections don’t really have stop lights unless you’re in the city, so when there’s a lot of cars, it tends to be a race to see who can get across the intersection first. If there is a car coming from the left, you just keep pushing your way through the intersection and hope you block the car from going any further so you can be the first one across. I also think that lanes or more of a suggestion than an actual law. My first day on a bus I was positive we were going to hit a car and in fact we got so close you couldn’t even see the car anymore. It never fails to surprise and scare me when our bus come inches from running into a moto or other car on the road, but so far I haven’t been in any accidents so apparently these bus drivers have something going for them.
The drive is further entertaining depending on where you’re going and what kind of people you get on your bus. Any white person in Paraguay stands out like a sore thumb, so I get stares pretty much everywhere I go. Yesterday I was on a bus to Asuncion and this old guy behind me asked me where I was from so I told him I was from the United States. We got into a conversation and then he asked me if I was German or American. I’m not really sure which part of “I’m from the United States” he didn’t understand, but apparently he needed further clarification. Also, once you get into the city there are usually vendors that hop on the bus and walk through the bus trying to sell their product and hop off a block or two later. Most of the time it’s stuff like gum, nail clippers, or newspapers, but one guy got on my bus yesterday that was selling some sort of liquid that apparently cured every ailment from headaches and rashes to tiredness and ulcers. I wonder if it could make you immune to heat and humidity…
I think public transportation kinda sucks no matter where you are, you just have less personal space in certain places. I still haven’t gotten used to busses almost running people off the road, but like I said, I haven’t gotten in an accident yet. Once you kinda get used to the busses, it’s really not all that bad and it feels a little bit normal, but maybe that’s because it’s been too long since I’ve driven on a freeway.