the perfect day according to ali

Yesterday was unusual. It was almost perfect actually. It’s not so much that I always have bad days Days like that don’t happen very often, so it means so much more when I actually have a day like that. Those days don’t really have anything to do with my projects going well (or otherwise) or me feeling like I am making a huge difference in the community. It really has more to do with me being able to appreciate where I am at and fully enjoy that moment, knowing what it took me to get there.

My early morning was semi-leisurely. I woke up around 6 and lazed around in my bed for a while, petting my dog until I fully woke up. I swept the house, did some stretching and some crunches, made my bed, and drank half a thermos of mate while reading Jane Austen’s “Mansfield Park.” The last cold spell of the winter was just ending so it was comfortable walking around my house in my long underwear and sweatpants as opposed to the intolerable cold during the previous week. Every morning previously, I would want to cry when I got out of bed and it felt like torture to do simple tasks

I was out of the house by 8:30 and made the 15 minute walk with Pulgita to the school. One of the teachers was making tortillas over a fire and I sat down and chatted with her until recess. Then I sat around with the teachers for half an hour, going back and forth from awkward silence to uncomfortable conversation. I pretended that I didn’t understand a crass comment one of the teachers made to me and I stayed comfortable in the semi-awkwardness that somehow seems to be present in most social situations. I planned to do a charla and activity with the classes in a couple of weeks and I left. No matter how strange my relationships with the teachers at the school might be, I have finally gained their respect and they pretty much give me free reign when I have ideas and activities to do.

On my walk home, my mom called from the states. She generally calls every other week, but we haven’t had a good conversation in a while and somehow a phone call in the middle of the week seems like an extra treat. We caught up, I vented, and pleaded my case against the injustices I feel I am fighting against. I hung up with her as my neighbor came over to tell me that my dog killed her chicken this morning. It was a small chicken and she was just playing with it with her paws, but my neighbor just wanted me to know.

I felt terrible and mulled over what I should do while I kneaded out dough for bread. As it was rising and baking, I picked and squeezed tangerines for a fresh pitcher of juice. I don’t care how crappy or how great my day is, fresh baked bread and fresh squeezed tangerine juice will always make it that much better. I took some of the rolls, still piping hot, to my neighbor as a good-will token, hoping to stay on good terms with her.

Then I headed down the street for a quince (15 year old birthday party celebrated for girls) for my host cousin. According to Paraguayan custom, parties don’t start until close to bed time, so I spent a few hours at my families house before heading over to the party. I chatted with my mom while shelling peas and then made a fire in her fogon to heat up water. My sister came home from high school and we ate tangerines while she told me about how disappointed she was with her quince 2 years ago. I had a light bulb moment and realized that she was confiding in me, telling me her secrets, and that we had become good enough friends for her to be able to do that. She consulted me on the gift she was giving her cousin and our mom rushed us next door to the party, which was still falta an hour to start.

We sat mostly in silence for about an hour listening to reggaeton music blasting and watched the other guests arrive and quietly take their seats. I can’t say that Paraguayan events are ever not awkward, but the awkward becomes normal and expected. I have found my place with the children at social events and made friends with boys and girls between the ages of 8 and 17. When there were enough guests and the hour was deemed late enough, the food was served around two long tables shoved together. We downed it with soda and then took group pictures around the cake. My host sister then coerced uncles and cousins to dance a waltz with the quinciñera and as more people joined in, I somehow got shoved into the group and waltzed for a few minutes with my neighbor. The party ended and I walked home with my neighbors, finally going to bed a couple hours after my normal bedtime.

I know that reading over the details of my day nothing sounds very spectacular, but that is only on the very surface. I remember joining Peace Corps and having absurdly high hopes of changing the world, only to arrive in Paraguay and be slapped in the face with reality, trying to hope for change in something, anything other than myself. It has not been easy and it has often not been fun, so out of context, this day has almost no meaning. I have said before that I can’t write about the bad days whether it be too offensive, too angry and bitter, too resentful, or what have you. I still can’t give you all the details of the bad days, but I can tell you why this day was so good and the struggles that I went through to make it that way.

My early morning goes with little explanation. It is not every morning that I get to relax for a couple of hours and not rush off somewhere and the fact that that I didn’t wake up with frost on my lawn only made it better.

When I go to the school now, I get no special treatment, no awkward welcomes, no interruptions in classes and while I will never fully be “one of them,” I am accepted into their group. The teachers respect me, the children love me and while they think I have weird and crazy ideas, I have good ideas. It has taken me many awkward charlas, uncomfortable conversations, and persistent visits for me to get to that point. I can now show up to school and the teachers get excited to work with me as well as the children. It has taken me a year and a half to get there.

I will often go weeks without talking to anyone from the United States. Any day that I get a phone call from home is a good day. Period.

The bread that I made was soft and chewy and the tangerine juice tart and sweet. I have probably spent more time collectively during my time in Peace Corps cooking than I have in all the previous years in my life. I have learned how to make a lot of really cool things, but there were definitely many days when things happened like the bread burned, the cake didn’t rise, the jelly wouldn’t jell, I forgot a cup of flour, or it tasted so bad that my dog got a really big dinner and even she wouldn’t finish it. I know my way around the kitchen but it has come with its fair share of mistakes. Anything that comes out well makes me feel good no matter how many times I’ve made it.

As for my dog, well, like everything else, she is a daily challenge. She is too playful for her own good and I need to keep a better eye on her. As strange as it may be, she has helped me change people’s opinions and helped them grow. At the quince, I saw people pet her. They didn’t pet her because they were trying to suck up to me or because they were pretending to like her. They were petting her for their sheer enjoyment. It has taken me countless awkward conversations and embarrassing situations for those few moments. I appreciate those people petting her so much because on a daily basis, she receives the opposite. She has had rocks thrown at her, sticks thrown at her, multiple dogs attack her because she trespassed, she has been hit, yelled at, and kicked. I am a crazy person because I love my dog; I put her on a leash, I feed her dog food, I give her vaccinations on time, and I put her on a bus and took her to Asuncion to take her to the vet to get spayed. But while most people can’t understand it, they see a difference. They see that she follows me all over and she listens to me and she loves me. Because of all of that, seeing people pet her repeatedly in public and tell her to sit in Guarani gives me untold joy. I don’t know that they treat their own dogs any differently than before, but at least it’s a start.

I feel badly about the chicken, but I don’t think my neighbor is mad at me or my dog. I won’t tell you the things that this neighbor said about me when I first moved in, but I will say they were extremely hurtful and that made it infinitely harder to visit her. I don’t know when the relationship changed, but somehow it did. Maybe it was when I spent an entire day with her and her husband in the hospital, waiting to see a doctor so I could translate for them. Whenever it was, she began to like me and when I left for the states to visit, she cried and said she didn’t want to say goodbye. I was astonished at the woman, but finally came to realize that I can cry and whine over wanting to be treated like an American but she is trying as hard as she can and loving me the way that she knows how. There were a few months when I was so unhappy with my neighbors that I seriously considered moving back with my host family. While it might not be an optimal relationship right now, it is what it is and I am happy to say that I am comfortable going over just to chat with them ever now and then. And as much as it drives me crazy that they literally stare at my house all day, I know they take care of it when I’m gone and will be the first to know if anything unusual goes on. We have both come a long way.

My first few months here especially, I felt like I was continually surprised at events and it took me a long time to understand Paraguayan “etiquette.” I never knew what to expect and wasn’t exactly sure how I was supposed to behave or dress. I feel like I finally know what to expect from any kind of social event. I know the traditions, the customs and my place in that and I find a huge comfort in that.

I went through many months complaining to my friends back in the states and to my mom that I was “all alone” here. It was hard to break through language and cultural barriers and feel like I could make any kind of meaningful connection with anyone. I can’t say that I am replacing any of my friends back in the states and I can’t say that it is in any way the same, but I do feel like I finally have friends. I will never be able to tell my host sister the same things that I tell my mom over the phone, but I can still share things with her, confide in her, and listen to her and that counts for a lot. During most of the quince, Ana, my 10 year old neighbor was sitting next to me and talking to me. She has recently become one of my better friends and will often come up to me for a much needed hug. She held my hand on our walk home that night. It is people like Leti and Ana, the teachers at the school and my neighbor that have taught me more about love and respect than any English speaking person has ever taught me. When I have good days like this one, Leti and Ana only make it better. But even when I have those bad days, they bring a smile to my face with very little effort. They are the reason I stay here and they remind me that even when things completely suck, I have come a long way.