"Buenas tardes," I call, slipping through the barbed wire fence, hoping my clothes haven't caught on the wire. Pulgita has already slipped under the fence, way ahead of me and enerjectically greeting their dog.
"Buenas tardes," Claudia responds, sitting in her low seated metal chair, and throws a limp, but now clean towel into a bucket of water. "Eguaheke," (arrive), she tells me in Guarani. "Ajohei che ao ha upei, ja'u terere," (I wash my clothes and then we drink terere), she says as I pull up a chair beside her in the shade.
"Good grief, does she ever stop?" I think. I know already the answer is no, which is exactly why I came at this hour. Most Paraguayans take a siesta or rest during the hottest part of the day but Claudia just keeps on plugging away, taking advantage of the time to wash her clothes, shell peanuts, rearange her kitchen, or some other project. The only time I have come to visit her and have found her sitting down or resting is when she has stopped working to drink terere. But most of the time, she just works. Out of all the Paraguayan women I know, she just might be the most guapa and I have a deep respect and admiration for her.
But that's not it, Claudia is one of the few people I call my friend and really mean it. I am typically wary of telling anyone any kind of personal information because I have heard creative lies and gossip about me and what I do, but Claudia has proved over and over than what I tell her doesn't get repeated to other people. Her jokes are never stinging, but said because she loves to tease and because she cares about me. She is also one of the few people that doesn't make me feel stupid. I lived with her family my third month in site and we got into a good rythm of communicating with her limited Spanish and my limited Guarani. Our conversations were full of repeated sentences, explanations, laughs, and an occasional translation from her daughter. Even with my somewhat improved Guarani, our conversations go back and forth between my white girl Guarani and her 5th grade Spanish.
I think most Americans would consider her poor, but what she lacks in monetary wealth, she more than makes up for in her hospitality and generosity. As different as our income levels are, and as popular a subject as my money is here, she manages not to see a problem or injustice in that. If money is ever mentioned with her, it is said as a fact, not a complaint. When I am getting ready to leave her house and she hasn't already found something to give me, she says, "mba'epa ame'e ndveve," (what will I give you?). She tells me that I have won her heart and that I bless her, so she is always trying to give me gifts. Five kilos of mandioca, a grocery bag of peanuts, more green peppers than will stay fresh in a week, 2 liters of milk, 50 bananas, half a dozen eggs, half a kilo of pig meat, mandioca flour,a bottle of honey, an entire asadera of chipa guazu, and anything she can think of to give me and make me agree to carry home with me.
Her hostpitality, generosity, and guaponess remind me of the good things here and why I truly love this country. It is people like her that remind me why I am here and make me feel like I am actually making some sort of difference here. It's really not about getting projects done, it's about the people and having friendships like hers that make my job worthwhile.
