Probably the most frequent question people asked me both in preparing to come to Paraguay and since I have been here is, “so what do you do?” Before I left I really had no idea what I was going to be doing here except for some very vague ideas from an introduction pamphlet sent to me in my invitation packet. So when people asked me what my job would be in Paraguay, I either parroted the pamphlet or I just made something up. “You know, I’ll be building brick ovens, building latrines for people, and educating them on stuff like hygiene, you know, like washing your hands and stuff.” I really had no clue how that was supposed to happen especially considering I probably wouldn’t know what to do with a brick oven, much less know how to build one. Nonetheless, I had high hopes of moving into a community and building brick ovens and latrines for every family and leaving two years later with the knowledge that every child in my community washed their hands after using the bathroom and before eating. Ok, maybe my ambitions weren’t that over the top, but that was mostly because my hopes had been dashed by that same pamphlet in my invitation packet that had this huge section on patience and not going in expecting to be able to change everything. It talked about suffering from boredom and depression and feeling like you aren’t actually accomplishing anything. I tried to take this into account considering it was probably written by former volunteers, but I still kept thinking, “but I still will be able to build those brick ovens for these people right?”
Over training some of that was cleared up, starting with me learning how to build a structurally sound and functional brick oven and a sanitary latrine. They also spent hours of horribly boring medical sessions talking about how there would be days we were depressed and every session we had enforced the idea that we might not feel like we are making a difference. Most people here want a brick oven because that is of course preferable to cooking on the floor, but you don’t just get to waltz into their homes, build it, and walk away. The whole idea behind Peace Corps is self-sustainability, so we don’t get any extra funding. To get the money for materials for the fogons, you either have to raise the money as a community or petition the local government which sometimes feels like giving money and sometimes doesn’t. So our trainers taught us how to do all this stuff, showed us the resources we have within Peace Corps Paraguay, told us we wouldn’t get it all done and might not feel like we’re doing anything, encouraged us against depression, and sent us off to our sites hoping we had retained everything.
I arrived in site with high hopes determined to not get bored or depressed and determined to at least start every project that was needed. Now I’m not writing this to say that I’m bored and depressed and not getting anything done… but sometimes I feel that way. I moved into this community knowing my two contacts and their families and also knowing that part of my job is to meet everyone here and explain who I am and why I’m here and figure out what it is they really need. My idea of what work is has changed a lot and some days if I spend a good few hours visiting with people, I consider that work, even if most of the time I sit in silence listening to other people talk (which is usually the case). Ok, so back to the question, what do I actually do? When people back home ask me that I usually laugh and then say, “um, hang out??” because sometimes it feels like that’s all I’m doing. I usually get up between 6 and 7, depending on how long I feel like sleeping in and typically spend the morning drinking mate (hot terere), helping out with preparing breakfast and lunch and cleaning up a little bit, do some laundry, and sometimes I do a little reading or go for a run. Then there is more terere, lunch, and usually a “rest” because my family is always telling me I should “rest a while.” In the afternoon I usually bake something, go visit someone, get something done for the preparation of my house, or complete a few censuses (short interview with families to get to know the main heath problems). The evening consists of more mate and dinner, sometimes a shower, watching the popular telanovela “Victorino,” and then an hour or two of listening to music, reading, or writing before I go to bed at the late hours of 9 or 10. I feel like my life has become quite simple.
The thing about my life as a Peace Corps Volunteer is that it usually sounds more exciting on paper than it really is and people telling you that you will have hard days or be bored is a lot different than the actual experience. Last time a group of volunteers were in Asuncion, one of the guys told us he had spent about 45 minutes just thinking about whether flies compete with each other to see who can be the most annoying. We all just laughed in understanding, all knowing that we had all spent hours contemplating equally useless topics. Since coming to Paraguay I have read 16 books (that is if you count the entire series of Narnia as 7 separate books) and I know many other volunteers have read much more than I have in the 6 months we’ve been here. I’m not even sure now that I really understand what being bored is. There were a few rainy/sick days this month when I literally spend hours just lying in bed with the covers over my face. I can’t tell you what I thought about except maybe the music I was listening to on my ipod, but I don’t think the thought, “I’m bored,” crossed my mind. I just was how I was and was perfectly happy to just be without having to think in Spanish or Guarani or think cross-culturally. Yes, in my two years I hopefully will build fogons for all the people in my community who need them and I will be doing a lot of work in the schools. I’ve actually already visited quite a few times and have done a dental charla with every class. But I don’t log my “work hours” in time spent in construction or in the classroom, my work mainly consists in building relationships and sharing cultures. Yah, sometimes it’s boring, sometimes it sucks, and I have the feeling many days that I’m not doing anything here. Sometimes I think that these people are teaching me more than I am teaching them. So for now, for all of you who are wondering what the heck I actually do here... that is about it...
Thursday, July 29, 2010
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
cooking lessons
I'm not really sure what I thought cooking on a wood burning, brick oven would be like, but in my mind it seemed like a kind of cool idea. I even entertained the idea of building my own fogon in my house until I realized that meant I would also have to go search for firewood everday. The whole thing sounded easy enough: you light some sticks on fire and you just throw your pot there instead of on the normal stove. I guess somewhere along the way in my imagining the exciting experience of cooking with "real fire" I overlooked a few things. First and foremost is the constant smoke inhilation. Sometimes I can't even stand in the kitchen while my host mom is cooking because the smoke makes tears pour out of my eyes and I begin severly coughing as my body is rejecting the ash attempting to line my airways. It's painful. Plus, your clothes and hair are stained with the smell of smoke until you use large amounts of soap to remove the smell. Second of all, the whole getting-the-fire-going part isn't always as easy as my host mom makes it look and you have to continually feed more firewood into the fire and make sure that the fire is actually under the pot and not next to it.
I cooked for my family yesterday because my mom and sister were washing clothes (yes, by hand)and I thought I'd help out a little bit. When I got to Paraguay, I was both facinated and appalled at how finely Paraguayans insist on cutting up their vegetables. They somehow dice green peppers into green slivers and I stand there in amazement watching them work. Not only can I not chop as finely as they can, but the smaller I try and cut the vegetables, the slower I chop. I will get through cutting up half an onion while my sister has peeled and cut the other onion as well as two tomatoes and as I put the finishing touches to my onion half, she stands there staring at my sloth-like actions with the knife and tear-giving vegetable. I tried yesterday to work my way through those vegetables as quickly as I could, all the time thinking that my sister would walk in and wonder why the food wasn't already halfway cooked. About halfway through the vegetable cutting process, my 5 year old brother came in to stare at my and was ambiable enough to point out that I should have peeled the carrot before cutting it up. I sent him outside to go get me water to cook the noodles. Finally I got to the meat. I'm not even sure how to describe this process, but let me begin by saying I don't really cook that much meat and I still have issues actually touching raw meat. And if you have ever seen me cut up a chicken breast, you know how anal I am about cutting off every single peice of fat off the meat. I'm pretty sure this peice of meat was about 46% fat and 54% meat, and the whole thing was so tough I didn't know how to begin sawing my way through it. I would never have thought to cook this meat back home, much less serve it to anyone I liked. I probably spent a good 15 to 20 minutes cutting it up, swearing and talking to myself the whole time and thinking how it would have taken my host sister approxiamately 2.5 minutes to do the work that I was doing. I don't know how they do it, but they do. I even picked up a few peices and pulled it apart with my hands becasue it was easier separating the fat with my hands than with the knife. Oh, and by the way, this whole time I had my head right next to a window to ensure I had a steady semi-clean oxygen supply rather than coating my nostrils and lungs with ash. However long it took me to cut up all of the ingredients apparently didn't matter and the food turned out tasty enough.
This type of cooking experience is a typical 2 or 3 times a day activity in Paraguayan homes. They really do cook with meat like that, some families every day, and they really do cut up their vegetables fine enough so that you can barely see them. Some families are more generous with the vegetables than others and with others you might be lucky enough to get two baby onions and a small green onion cooked to oblivion in the mixture. After the vegetables and meat are chopped up, they throw it in about 3/4 cup of oil over the fire and cook all the vitamins out of the vegetables and fry the meat so that it's barely chewable. Then they throw in a ton of water (never measured) and after it's boiling, they either put in rice or noodles and then cook them so that they are just over-cooked and squishy. Finally once everything is overcooked and the vegetables have been obliterated into food coloring for the ample amount of broth that has a layer of oil for a topping, the family sits down with a spoon in one hand and a peice of mandioca in the other. My first host family typicially ate like this 3 times a day.
I will conclude by saying that this whole experience really isn't all that traumatizing once you get used to it and the whole broth mixture is actually quite tastey sometimes. That said, I'm planning on buying and using a gas stove in my house rather than a fogon and I plan on using many vegetables that are not cut up finely and meat that is not tough and fatty.
I cooked for my family yesterday because my mom and sister were washing clothes (yes, by hand)and I thought I'd help out a little bit. When I got to Paraguay, I was both facinated and appalled at how finely Paraguayans insist on cutting up their vegetables. They somehow dice green peppers into green slivers and I stand there in amazement watching them work. Not only can I not chop as finely as they can, but the smaller I try and cut the vegetables, the slower I chop. I will get through cutting up half an onion while my sister has peeled and cut the other onion as well as two tomatoes and as I put the finishing touches to my onion half, she stands there staring at my sloth-like actions with the knife and tear-giving vegetable. I tried yesterday to work my way through those vegetables as quickly as I could, all the time thinking that my sister would walk in and wonder why the food wasn't already halfway cooked. About halfway through the vegetable cutting process, my 5 year old brother came in to stare at my and was ambiable enough to point out that I should have peeled the carrot before cutting it up. I sent him outside to go get me water to cook the noodles. Finally I got to the meat. I'm not even sure how to describe this process, but let me begin by saying I don't really cook that much meat and I still have issues actually touching raw meat. And if you have ever seen me cut up a chicken breast, you know how anal I am about cutting off every single peice of fat off the meat. I'm pretty sure this peice of meat was about 46% fat and 54% meat, and the whole thing was so tough I didn't know how to begin sawing my way through it. I would never have thought to cook this meat back home, much less serve it to anyone I liked. I probably spent a good 15 to 20 minutes cutting it up, swearing and talking to myself the whole time and thinking how it would have taken my host sister approxiamately 2.5 minutes to do the work that I was doing. I don't know how they do it, but they do. I even picked up a few peices and pulled it apart with my hands becasue it was easier separating the fat with my hands than with the knife. Oh, and by the way, this whole time I had my head right next to a window to ensure I had a steady semi-clean oxygen supply rather than coating my nostrils and lungs with ash. However long it took me to cut up all of the ingredients apparently didn't matter and the food turned out tasty enough.
This type of cooking experience is a typical 2 or 3 times a day activity in Paraguayan homes. They really do cook with meat like that, some families every day, and they really do cut up their vegetables fine enough so that you can barely see them. Some families are more generous with the vegetables than others and with others you might be lucky enough to get two baby onions and a small green onion cooked to oblivion in the mixture. After the vegetables and meat are chopped up, they throw it in about 3/4 cup of oil over the fire and cook all the vitamins out of the vegetables and fry the meat so that it's barely chewable. Then they throw in a ton of water (never measured) and after it's boiling, they either put in rice or noodles and then cook them so that they are just over-cooked and squishy. Finally once everything is overcooked and the vegetables have been obliterated into food coloring for the ample amount of broth that has a layer of oil for a topping, the family sits down with a spoon in one hand and a peice of mandioca in the other. My first host family typicially ate like this 3 times a day.
I will conclude by saying that this whole experience really isn't all that traumatizing once you get used to it and the whole broth mixture is actually quite tastey sometimes. That said, I'm planning on buying and using a gas stove in my house rather than a fogon and I plan on using many vegetables that are not cut up finely and meat that is not tough and fatty.
Saturday, July 3, 2010
tales of cariy neighborhood kids
I’m not really sure why, but I’ve always found it easy to hang out with kids. Maybe it’s because they have so much energy and joy, or maybe it’s because I’m still kind of a kid myself. But either or, I think the neighborhood kids here have become some of my favorite people in Paraguay. Many times I find it easier to hang out with them than to hang out with the adults. First of all, they all look up to me, but they don’t ask as many annoying questions as the adults, nor do I feel like they pass as much judgment on me as the adults. Second of all, they don’t laugh at me when I try and say something in Guarani and most of them take in on as their personal job to teach me their language. It’s funny how sometimes children understand and see so much more than their parents.
Alberto lives across the street from me with his parents and 6 brothers and sisters in a house that I think has 2 or 3 rooms. He’s 8 years old and like most Paraguayan boys, he is pretty much obsessed with soccer. I think every time I’ve seen him, he has been running around barefoot with shorts and a t-shirt that are dirty, and sometimes his face matches his dirty shirt. It’s not like he’s too poor to bathe, because his mom and his 14 year old sister always look clean, he just runs around too much in the dirty, dusty Paraguayan campo. About every other day he’s in my front yard kicking around a soccer ball and as soon as he sees me, he asks me in Guarani if I want to play soccer with him and the couple of times I have said no because I was busy, he was highly disappointed. When he found out that I wanted to learn how to speak Guarani, he decided to only speak to me in Guarani because he wanted to help teach me. Luckily I can keep up with most 8 year old level conversations about soccer and when I don’t understand, he usually starts shouting louder (his “talking” voice is typically a shout) and waving his hands in the air while his eyes widen as if he is willing me to understand his words. One time he said something to me and another boy, Gustavo, overheard and the following conversation commenced in Guarani:
“You have to speak to her in Spanish only! She doesn’t understand Guarani.”
“No! She understands Guarani!” Alberto’s eyes are getting wider, his voice is getting louder, and his hands are starting to wave around in the air.
“Well she understands some things, but only a little, she hasn’t learned everything yet. We have to speak to her in Spanish!”
“But we HAVE to speak only Guarani to her so she can LEARN! And she understands!!” Alberto now turns to me, “Right Ali, you understand?”
While my apprehension is consistently getting better, I still have trouble responding in Guarani, so I just spoke in Spanish. “Yes, I understand. No Gustavo, I haven’t learned everything yet, but I understood everything you guys just said.” At this response, Gustavo’s eyes just widened about the same size as Alberto’s and he didn’t say anything. Alberto just stood there smiling with an I-told-you-so look on his face. I really like that kid.
Another boy, Ariel, about the same age as Alberto has also decided not to speak a word of Spanish to me. Even when I don’t understand a word he’s saying, he just keeps going on in Guarani. He also usually sports dirty shorts and a t-shirt, even when it’s cold outside, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen shoes on his feet. When I go for my runs, I pass his house and when he’s standing outside, I’ll yell at him, “jaha!” (let’s go!) and I jerk my head forward as if inviting him to run with me. “Moopiko” (Where?) he asks as he starts trailing behind still trying to figure out if he wants to tag along. And I just keep running and say, “jaháma!” (let’s go already!). After this, sometimes he falls in step with me asks again, “Moopa jahata” (where are we going?) and then repeats the question about every 2 minutes. I just respond with “allí” (over there) and then listen to his monologue in Guarani, trying to understand at least the main idea. The only thing is he kind of sucks as a running partner and every 5 minutes or so, he sighs and says, “che kaneo” (I’m tired) and we have to walk for a few minutes. While I usually prefer interrupted runs, I always enjoy his company, and I know that at least someone is happy to see me.
And then there is Monsuerat, a 5 year old girl with a button nose and one of the cutest kids I’ve met in my life. Every time there is a social event that we are both at, she will sidle up next to me and sometimes grab my arm, and smile, squinting her large brown eyes just a little bit and showing off her dimples and long eyelashes. She likes to sit next to me and help me name objects in Guarani. “Mba’e pe’a” (what’s this) she says pointing to a chair. “Apyka” I say, “ha pe’a mesá” (and this is a table) I add pointing to the table. Then she giggles and searches the room for something else to name. I think it’s a mutually beneficial relationship. She gets undivided attention from someone who is willing to talk to her and play with her, I get to practice my Guarani and not feel like a complete idiot.
While most people here are usually excited to see me and expect me to hang out with them for the next 5 hours, even if I’m just passing by their house, these kids probably express the most enthusiasm at spending time with me. Their faces light up, their eyes get bigger (if it’s Alberto, his hands start waving in the air) and they start speaking to me in Guarani. Even if I don’t understand, they speak to me in their language because they know that even if I don’t understand today, one day I will understand and they want to be a part of helping me learn.
Alberto lives across the street from me with his parents and 6 brothers and sisters in a house that I think has 2 or 3 rooms. He’s 8 years old and like most Paraguayan boys, he is pretty much obsessed with soccer. I think every time I’ve seen him, he has been running around barefoot with shorts and a t-shirt that are dirty, and sometimes his face matches his dirty shirt. It’s not like he’s too poor to bathe, because his mom and his 14 year old sister always look clean, he just runs around too much in the dirty, dusty Paraguayan campo. About every other day he’s in my front yard kicking around a soccer ball and as soon as he sees me, he asks me in Guarani if I want to play soccer with him and the couple of times I have said no because I was busy, he was highly disappointed. When he found out that I wanted to learn how to speak Guarani, he decided to only speak to me in Guarani because he wanted to help teach me. Luckily I can keep up with most 8 year old level conversations about soccer and when I don’t understand, he usually starts shouting louder (his “talking” voice is typically a shout) and waving his hands in the air while his eyes widen as if he is willing me to understand his words. One time he said something to me and another boy, Gustavo, overheard and the following conversation commenced in Guarani:
“You have to speak to her in Spanish only! She doesn’t understand Guarani.”
“No! She understands Guarani!” Alberto’s eyes are getting wider, his voice is getting louder, and his hands are starting to wave around in the air.
“Well she understands some things, but only a little, she hasn’t learned everything yet. We have to speak to her in Spanish!”
“But we HAVE to speak only Guarani to her so she can LEARN! And she understands!!” Alberto now turns to me, “Right Ali, you understand?”
While my apprehension is consistently getting better, I still have trouble responding in Guarani, so I just spoke in Spanish. “Yes, I understand. No Gustavo, I haven’t learned everything yet, but I understood everything you guys just said.” At this response, Gustavo’s eyes just widened about the same size as Alberto’s and he didn’t say anything. Alberto just stood there smiling with an I-told-you-so look on his face. I really like that kid.
Another boy, Ariel, about the same age as Alberto has also decided not to speak a word of Spanish to me. Even when I don’t understand a word he’s saying, he just keeps going on in Guarani. He also usually sports dirty shorts and a t-shirt, even when it’s cold outside, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen shoes on his feet. When I go for my runs, I pass his house and when he’s standing outside, I’ll yell at him, “jaha!” (let’s go!) and I jerk my head forward as if inviting him to run with me. “Moopiko” (Where?) he asks as he starts trailing behind still trying to figure out if he wants to tag along. And I just keep running and say, “jaháma!” (let’s go already!). After this, sometimes he falls in step with me asks again, “Moopa jahata” (where are we going?) and then repeats the question about every 2 minutes. I just respond with “allí” (over there) and then listen to his monologue in Guarani, trying to understand at least the main idea. The only thing is he kind of sucks as a running partner and every 5 minutes or so, he sighs and says, “che kaneo” (I’m tired) and we have to walk for a few minutes. While I usually prefer interrupted runs, I always enjoy his company, and I know that at least someone is happy to see me.
And then there is Monsuerat, a 5 year old girl with a button nose and one of the cutest kids I’ve met in my life. Every time there is a social event that we are both at, she will sidle up next to me and sometimes grab my arm, and smile, squinting her large brown eyes just a little bit and showing off her dimples and long eyelashes. She likes to sit next to me and help me name objects in Guarani. “Mba’e pe’a” (what’s this) she says pointing to a chair. “Apyka” I say, “ha pe’a mesá” (and this is a table) I add pointing to the table. Then she giggles and searches the room for something else to name. I think it’s a mutually beneficial relationship. She gets undivided attention from someone who is willing to talk to her and play with her, I get to practice my Guarani and not feel like a complete idiot.
While most people here are usually excited to see me and expect me to hang out with them for the next 5 hours, even if I’m just passing by their house, these kids probably express the most enthusiasm at spending time with me. Their faces light up, their eyes get bigger (if it’s Alberto, his hands start waving in the air) and they start speaking to me in Guarani. Even if I don’t understand, they speak to me in their language because they know that even if I don’t understand today, one day I will understand and they want to be a part of helping me learn.
Sunday, June 20, 2010
can you tell me how to get, how to get to seasame street?
Directions in Paraguay are a funny thing and in fact, most directions are rather relative. Of course pre-Paraguay, I quite enjoyed and used rather often both Map Quest and Google Maps, two wonderful websites that will tell you approximately how long it will take you to get from point A to point B, how many miles you will be on every street, and the fastest way to get there. They give you precise information and always gave me a sense of comfort because I felt like I knew exactly where I was. You’d be hard pressed to find that kind of information anywhere in Paraguay. If you are in Asuncion, you usually have to ask anywhere from 3 to 5 people directions to the same place to ensure you are actually getting correct directions. I will admit sometimes it’s my own stupidity in not understanding the directions I’ve been given, but the majority of times I get about three to 4 different answers when I ask 5 people the same thing. (And for those of you who have spent a lot of time with me getting lost and know that side of me, yes I have gotten over the whole lets-stop-and-ask-for-directions thing. I kind of had to.) Apparently the different answers stem from a couple of different things, the first being that people don’t know the city that well and sometimes they think they know where something is and so they tell you where they think it is. Other times, people just want to feel nice and don’t like telling you that they have no clue where that restaurant is, or where the post office is located, so they just make something up in the direction they think it could be located. I have backtracked so many times in that city it’s not even funny. The strange thing is, Asuncion is neither large, nor complicated. I could probably walk from one end of the city to the other in less than 4 hours and every single street runs either north-south or east-west. So when I get one person telling me to walk two blocks to my destination, another person telling me 5 more blocks and then turn left for 2 more blocks, and a third person telling me I need to walk about 6 blocks and then turn left and I’m there, I start wondering if my final destination is imaginary. By the way, I should also mention that 85% of the time, the estimation on number of blocks I have to walk is off by about 2 or 3 blocks so even if you do get 2 people to tell you the same thing, you still can’t be completely sure those directions are 100% accurate.
And then there are directions in the campo which are about as vague as they come. Maybe this is partly because everybody knows everybody and their families have usually lived in the area for a few generations so they never really have to give directions. I told a girl that I would come over to her house the next day to help her with her homework and I asked where she lived. She said, “you know where Fulana’s house is?”
“Yes.”
“Well I live right by there.”
Um… ok… “So your house is next to her house?”
“No, that’s not my house, but I live right near there.”
Well that was helpful. “So your house is in front of her house?”
“No, I don’t live there, but my house is like right there.” Ok, well that just cleared up my confusion. I still don’t even understand if it’s on the left or right side of the street.
I’ve also been told things like, “Oh you know where so and so lives? Well just pass their house a little bit and you’re there.” Well tell me, how long is “a little bit?” For someone who likes facts, exact directions, and an estimated time of arrival, responses like this are not something I like to hear. The other day I went to go visit the Heath Center in the nearby pueblo to ask for fluoride pills for my school. I had been told by several people that the it was “just down that road a little” by the plaza. When I left that morning I asked my host mom directions just be sure I knew where I was going. She told me, “Oh ya, just go down that street, you’ll see a big sign and it’s on your right.” I got off the bus confident and feeling good about myself that I knew exactly where I was going. I walked all the way down the street until I hit a dead end and no Health Center. While the walk wasn’t all that long, it was uphill and a cobble stone like quality that really hurts if you’re walking in rubber flip-flops. Now feeling a little foolish, partly for not knowing where I was, and partly for thinking it could really be that easy to get somewhere, I turned around and headed downhill while the people sitting out in their front yard watched the white girl retrace her steps. Half way down the street, I asked a lady if she knew where the Health Center was. She pointed down the street she had just been walking down, “Yes, just walk that way and it’s right there.” A few minutes later, I came up to a semi-official building that looked like it had a waiting room in the front. There was no big sign indicating my stop, but there was a nice little sign on the lawn that had a whole bunch of information about the Department of Cordillera and it said somewhere on there, “hospital.” Ladies and Gentlemen, I have arrived. The Health Center was on the right side of the street, but I’m still mystified why no one ever told me you have to turn left on to a side street to get there. Maybe when my host mom told be “big sign” she meant there is a big sign on the street where you want to turn left to get to the health center which is on the right side of the street approximately 5 buildings down and it has a small sign on the front lawn and is located across from a park. Yes, now that I think about it, she must have meant that.
And then there are directions in the campo which are about as vague as they come. Maybe this is partly because everybody knows everybody and their families have usually lived in the area for a few generations so they never really have to give directions. I told a girl that I would come over to her house the next day to help her with her homework and I asked where she lived. She said, “you know where Fulana’s house is?”
“Yes.”
“Well I live right by there.”
Um… ok… “So your house is next to her house?”
“No, that’s not my house, but I live right near there.”
Well that was helpful. “So your house is in front of her house?”
“No, I don’t live there, but my house is like right there.” Ok, well that just cleared up my confusion. I still don’t even understand if it’s on the left or right side of the street.
I’ve also been told things like, “Oh you know where so and so lives? Well just pass their house a little bit and you’re there.” Well tell me, how long is “a little bit?” For someone who likes facts, exact directions, and an estimated time of arrival, responses like this are not something I like to hear. The other day I went to go visit the Heath Center in the nearby pueblo to ask for fluoride pills for my school. I had been told by several people that the it was “just down that road a little” by the plaza. When I left that morning I asked my host mom directions just be sure I knew where I was going. She told me, “Oh ya, just go down that street, you’ll see a big sign and it’s on your right.” I got off the bus confident and feeling good about myself that I knew exactly where I was going. I walked all the way down the street until I hit a dead end and no Health Center. While the walk wasn’t all that long, it was uphill and a cobble stone like quality that really hurts if you’re walking in rubber flip-flops. Now feeling a little foolish, partly for not knowing where I was, and partly for thinking it could really be that easy to get somewhere, I turned around and headed downhill while the people sitting out in their front yard watched the white girl retrace her steps. Half way down the street, I asked a lady if she knew where the Health Center was. She pointed down the street she had just been walking down, “Yes, just walk that way and it’s right there.” A few minutes later, I came up to a semi-official building that looked like it had a waiting room in the front. There was no big sign indicating my stop, but there was a nice little sign on the lawn that had a whole bunch of information about the Department of Cordillera and it said somewhere on there, “hospital.” Ladies and Gentlemen, I have arrived. The Health Center was on the right side of the street, but I’m still mystified why no one ever told me you have to turn left on to a side street to get there. Maybe when my host mom told be “big sign” she meant there is a big sign on the street where you want to turn left to get to the health center which is on the right side of the street approximately 5 buildings down and it has a small sign on the front lawn and is located across from a park. Yes, now that I think about it, she must have meant that.
la cupa mundial
I have a couple updates on the whole futbol front. First of all, let me correct myself in saying that Paraguay has qualified for the world cup before, but you can probably find better facts on the internet than I can asking people in my site. My current host dad told me they have qualified the last 4 World Cups, but I’ve also been told by more than one Paraguayan they’ve never qualified before, so I really don’t know what’s happened.
Second, the closest thing I can compare watching Paraguay’s opening game is watching the Super Bowl. Unless you had to work, you were watching the game, even if you never follow futbol. I went over to my neighbors house and watched it with them, laughing at them freaking out every time Paraguay almost made a goal or someone stole the ball from Paraguay. When they made the one goal of the game, almost everyone jumped out of their seats screaming because they were so excited. The 6 year old started running around the room doing a victory dance that had some resemblance to Michael Jackson style dancing. We made popcorn for the second half and one of them started throwing popcorn at the TV every time something happened in the game that she didn’t like. The whole thing was quite the event, and quite exciting.
Lastly, I would like to tell you how being in the World Cup has suddenly made the neighborhood boys much more serious about our front lawn pick up games. We usually spend an hour or two playing two on two or three on three and I spend approximately half of that time listening to them yell at each other in Guarani about whether or not it’s a corner shot, whether or not they have 3 goals or 4, or whether or not they get a penalty shot. The games usually spontaneously start and people join in and leave in the middle of the game. On Friday we played 4 on 4 and not only did we have an official start to the game, but we had everything from line up and the national anthem, to shaking hands, and warm up exercises. They decided one team would be Paraguay and the other would be the United States in honor of me. We also had to choose which famous soccer player we wanted to be for the game. They asked me who the most famous soccer player in the United States was. Um, I don’t know… David Beckam? I don’t even think he’s in South Africa right now but he’s honestly the only soccer name I know. Luckily they were satisfied with only one name and I got to be David Beckam while they all fought over which Paraguayan soccer player they would be. We all stood in two lines and then they told me that I had to sing the national anthem of the United States because that was our team. I made it through two lines before bursting into laughter. Apparently just singing, “Oh say can you see, by the dawns early light,” was good enough for them and they all put their hands over their hearts to sing the Paraguayan national anthem. I don’t even think the game actually lasted for 5 minutes before the ball got stuck in the tree, or one of the boys ended up on the ground fake crying because he got kicked… I don’t remember which happened first, but after that happened, I just sat around listening to them yell at each other in Guarani and chase each other around to beat up the kid who kicked the boy lying on the ground. I guess the ceremonies were more important than the actual game.
Second, the closest thing I can compare watching Paraguay’s opening game is watching the Super Bowl. Unless you had to work, you were watching the game, even if you never follow futbol. I went over to my neighbors house and watched it with them, laughing at them freaking out every time Paraguay almost made a goal or someone stole the ball from Paraguay. When they made the one goal of the game, almost everyone jumped out of their seats screaming because they were so excited. The 6 year old started running around the room doing a victory dance that had some resemblance to Michael Jackson style dancing. We made popcorn for the second half and one of them started throwing popcorn at the TV every time something happened in the game that she didn’t like. The whole thing was quite the event, and quite exciting.
Lastly, I would like to tell you how being in the World Cup has suddenly made the neighborhood boys much more serious about our front lawn pick up games. We usually spend an hour or two playing two on two or three on three and I spend approximately half of that time listening to them yell at each other in Guarani about whether or not it’s a corner shot, whether or not they have 3 goals or 4, or whether or not they get a penalty shot. The games usually spontaneously start and people join in and leave in the middle of the game. On Friday we played 4 on 4 and not only did we have an official start to the game, but we had everything from line up and the national anthem, to shaking hands, and warm up exercises. They decided one team would be Paraguay and the other would be the United States in honor of me. We also had to choose which famous soccer player we wanted to be for the game. They asked me who the most famous soccer player in the United States was. Um, I don’t know… David Beckam? I don’t even think he’s in South Africa right now but he’s honestly the only soccer name I know. Luckily they were satisfied with only one name and I got to be David Beckam while they all fought over which Paraguayan soccer player they would be. We all stood in two lines and then they told me that I had to sing the national anthem of the United States because that was our team. I made it through two lines before bursting into laughter. Apparently just singing, “Oh say can you see, by the dawns early light,” was good enough for them and they all put their hands over their hearts to sing the Paraguayan national anthem. I don’t even think the game actually lasted for 5 minutes before the ball got stuck in the tree, or one of the boys ended up on the ground fake crying because he got kicked… I don’t remember which happened first, but after that happened, I just sat around listening to them yell at each other in Guarani and chase each other around to beat up the kid who kicked the boy lying on the ground. I guess the ceremonies were more important than the actual game.
Monday, June 14, 2010
fuerza paraguaya!!!!
For those of you who follow soccer, and possibly some of you who don’t follow soccer, you probably know that the world cup has started in South Africa. I think I’ve said before that Paraguayans get really excited when it comes to futbol. Let me make myself clear: Paraguayans are serious about their futbol. It is about as hard to imagine Paraguayans without futbol as it is to imagine them without terere every day or without chipa on Semana Santa. Maybe qualifying for the World Cup doesn’t sound like a huge deal, but for a country who lives and breaths futbol but has never qualified for the World Cup, it’s the most exciting thing that has happened here for a very long time. Because of this, for the last month or so, about two thirds of the commercials on TV and every few billboards or so in Asuncion have had something to do with the upcoming World Cup. “Fuerza Paraguay” has become a very popular phrase recently. My host mom told me that if the United States, who has also qualified for the World Cup, plays Paraguay, I have to cheer for Paraguay. My neighbor asked me what I was going to do if the US plays Paraguay as if I was obligated to cheer for Paraguay because I was here. “I don’t know,” I said feeling a bit conflicted about cheering for my home country while everyone here almost expects me to turn against my roots. “I don’t know.”
There was an opening concert Thursday night and my family stayed up late to watch Black Eyed Peas and Shakira perform even though they didn’t understand a word of it except for the line in “Hips don’t lie” that says, “Como se llama, bonita. Mi casa, su casa.” They got all excited for this part and said, “Listen! She’s singing in Spanish!” Friday was the inauguration and neither my 6 year old brother or my 14 year old brother went to school so they could watch the opening games. By the time I had woken up my 6 year old brother had drawn a mini soccer field in the dirt and spent the next few hours kicking around a mini soccer ball and yelling, “Gooooooooooooalllll!!!!!!! Ole Paraguay! Ole ole!” My 14 year old brother devoted his morning to gawking at the TV for the inauguration and the opening game between South Africa and Mexico. After the end of every game played (I think there have been 7 so far) my brother dutifully tells me the score of each team and then makes sure to inform me which countries will be playing next and at what time. Paraguay hasn’t even stepped foot onto the field and he’s already keeping track of every single goal. My 20 year old neighbor and host mom are a little disappointed that the World Cup lasts for a month because that means a month devoted to watching soccer games instead of their favorite TV series. Paraguay will be making their way onto the field this afternoon to play against Italy. I have been told that there will be no school that afternoon because everyone will be at home to watch the game. Since when did school get cancelled for a sports game? In honor of the upcoming game, my dad (and several other Paraguayans) put up a Paraguayan flag in his front lawn. I can`t wait to see how this whole event goes and I am secretly praying I the United States will not be playing against Paraguay in the nearby future. But for today, FUERZA PARAGUAYA!!
There was an opening concert Thursday night and my family stayed up late to watch Black Eyed Peas and Shakira perform even though they didn’t understand a word of it except for the line in “Hips don’t lie” that says, “Como se llama, bonita. Mi casa, su casa.” They got all excited for this part and said, “Listen! She’s singing in Spanish!” Friday was the inauguration and neither my 6 year old brother or my 14 year old brother went to school so they could watch the opening games. By the time I had woken up my 6 year old brother had drawn a mini soccer field in the dirt and spent the next few hours kicking around a mini soccer ball and yelling, “Gooooooooooooalllll!!!!!!! Ole Paraguay! Ole ole!” My 14 year old brother devoted his morning to gawking at the TV for the inauguration and the opening game between South Africa and Mexico. After the end of every game played (I think there have been 7 so far) my brother dutifully tells me the score of each team and then makes sure to inform me which countries will be playing next and at what time. Paraguay hasn’t even stepped foot onto the field and he’s already keeping track of every single goal. My 20 year old neighbor and host mom are a little disappointed that the World Cup lasts for a month because that means a month devoted to watching soccer games instead of their favorite TV series. Paraguay will be making their way onto the field this afternoon to play against Italy. I have been told that there will be no school that afternoon because everyone will be at home to watch the game. Since when did school get cancelled for a sports game? In honor of the upcoming game, my dad (and several other Paraguayans) put up a Paraguayan flag in his front lawn. I can`t wait to see how this whole event goes and I am secretly praying I the United States will not be playing against Paraguay in the nearby future. But for today, FUERZA PARAGUAYA!!
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
some random thoughts
Has it really been over a month that I’ve been in site or is the calendar lying to me? I thought when I moved to site time would slow down and I would have to start making a paper chain to help count the days. Granted, many of those days have been long and seemed endless, but as a whole it seems like the month flew by. I finally feel like I’m actually settled and belong (mas o menos) in my community. These are some random stories and thoughts about my first month in site.
I am in a constant state of changing emotions and have possibly never felt so conflicted in my life. It seems that with every step along the way, Peace Corps has managed to bring me joy, anger, frustration, a sense of accomplishment, confusion, and peace. I didn’t know it was possible to feel all of that at once… for days on end. It’s truly amazing how quickly my feelings can change about the exact same thing within minutes and sometimes seconds. I will have days when my feelings swing from extreme opposites and back about every 5 minutes. This type of experience is a common occurrence for me and is proving to be an extremely growing experience. My emotions bounce back and forth between being lonely to feeling like I’m accepted in the community, feeling like me being here is pointless to feeling like I’ve accomplished something and made a difference, and feeling like learning Guarani is impossible and pointless to feeling like I’ve actually made headway and understand something. The only comforting thing in this confusing mish mash of feelings is that I’m not alone in strange experience and most volunteers feel like that. I have the expectation that the following 23 months will be a similar experience.
I built a fogon with only the help of my host brother and my training manual. I didn’t expect to do something like that for at least another 9 months or so, but someone bought the materials and two days later we got to work. I wasn’t completely sure that I knew what I was doing and was afraid that once we got to the oven and chimney I would have to call a friend to come help finish it. After two days of hard labor (aka a break every hour or two for terere and or food) the fogon was completed. What do you know, training actually did teach me something!
I’m changing. Maybe that all started the day I got on the plane to Miami but I haven’t felt that change too strongly up until now. I think a piece of me is becoming Paraguayan and that’s funny and scary at the same time. I can actually sit down with my family and chow down on the tallerin (greasy noodles and typically fatty meat) with a fork in one hand and a piece of mandioca (the closest thing I can compare this to is a potato) in the other. This might not mean that much to you, but if any of you ever come to visit the campo in rural Paraguay, you will know exactly what that means. I have also been known to mimic my family and pick up a bone off my plate to try and gnaw the rest of the meat off. I feel like it’s a treat when I get warm water for a shower. And sometimes I find it easier to think in Spanish than in English. There are things that I do or accomplish almost every day that I didn’t think was possible. I am finding a strength I never knew existed and sometimes I have to search long and hard for that strength, but I always find it.
Four months down, 23 to go! I don’t have any inkling that these next 2 years will be easy by any means, but I’m home.
I am in a constant state of changing emotions and have possibly never felt so conflicted in my life. It seems that with every step along the way, Peace Corps has managed to bring me joy, anger, frustration, a sense of accomplishment, confusion, and peace. I didn’t know it was possible to feel all of that at once… for days on end. It’s truly amazing how quickly my feelings can change about the exact same thing within minutes and sometimes seconds. I will have days when my feelings swing from extreme opposites and back about every 5 minutes. This type of experience is a common occurrence for me and is proving to be an extremely growing experience. My emotions bounce back and forth between being lonely to feeling like I’m accepted in the community, feeling like me being here is pointless to feeling like I’ve accomplished something and made a difference, and feeling like learning Guarani is impossible and pointless to feeling like I’ve actually made headway and understand something. The only comforting thing in this confusing mish mash of feelings is that I’m not alone in strange experience and most volunteers feel like that. I have the expectation that the following 23 months will be a similar experience.
I built a fogon with only the help of my host brother and my training manual. I didn’t expect to do something like that for at least another 9 months or so, but someone bought the materials and two days later we got to work. I wasn’t completely sure that I knew what I was doing and was afraid that once we got to the oven and chimney I would have to call a friend to come help finish it. After two days of hard labor (aka a break every hour or two for terere and or food) the fogon was completed. What do you know, training actually did teach me something!
I’m changing. Maybe that all started the day I got on the plane to Miami but I haven’t felt that change too strongly up until now. I think a piece of me is becoming Paraguayan and that’s funny and scary at the same time. I can actually sit down with my family and chow down on the tallerin (greasy noodles and typically fatty meat) with a fork in one hand and a piece of mandioca (the closest thing I can compare this to is a potato) in the other. This might not mean that much to you, but if any of you ever come to visit the campo in rural Paraguay, you will know exactly what that means. I have also been known to mimic my family and pick up a bone off my plate to try and gnaw the rest of the meat off. I feel like it’s a treat when I get warm water for a shower. And sometimes I find it easier to think in Spanish than in English. There are things that I do or accomplish almost every day that I didn’t think was possible. I am finding a strength I never knew existed and sometimes I have to search long and hard for that strength, but I always find it.
Four months down, 23 to go! I don’t have any inkling that these next 2 years will be easy by any means, but I’m home.
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