"Do it Ali! Cross! Go! But if you are scared you shouldn't do it. Cross!" My heart was pounding as I heard all of them yelling at me, and I was slightly fearful but trying to calm myself. Diego grabbed ahold of my hand and pulled me slightly forward, looking intensly into my face. He had just done it twice and the utter calmness of his face only reminded me of how uncalm I was. "Are you ready?" he asked. I nodded my head, took a deep breath, looked at the 2 meters of live coals spread out in front of me and started walking forward.
No, I was not dreaming. I was at San Juan festival. I don't know how San Juan got started, but my best guess is that several Guarani men got very drunk one night and began playing with fire and had so much fun that they decided to make it a tradition. At some point it became a national fire festival celebrated every June 24 with extra celebrations in the weeks prior and folliwing the actual date. It is, I think, my personal favorite tribute to any and all saints. It is also perhaps the only time and place when playing with fire is not only sanctioned by parents, but encouraged, organized, supervized, and funded as well. Every school has a festival as well as many churches and families. In addition to the traditional dance and food normally available, there are games and activities devoted to fire.
A group of men or children dress up as "kamba" in mismatched clothing, masks, capes, antyhing to make them look scary, ridiculous, and protect their true identity. Often the object of the kamba is just to run around and scare people, but sometimes they "capture" people and take them to a "jail" where they must pay a fee to be released. A greasy pole is set up and the kamba must climb the pole in order to shake down the treats on top. There are often small fair-like games set up for the kids to play, but the best games are the ones with the fire. One of my favorites is pelota tata (fire ball) when they set fire to several "soccer balls" and kick them around the field or at each other as if they were passing a real soccer ball. Children are given bundles of kapi'i (long, dried grass), and they set fire to them, running around like children in the United States run around with sparklers on the 4th of July, chasing each other, playing swards, and screaming from sheer joy. They stuff a mans pants and shirt to make a type of scarecrow, tie him up to a soccer post and set fire to him. And as if the element of fire wasn't enough, they often put small explosives in his clothes just for kicks.
In some places, such as the school where my host mom teaches, they still do the jahasa tatapyi ari (we pass over the coals) which is said to only be possible on the eve of San Juan between the hours of 10 and 12 at night. If you do it any other day or any other time, you will be burned. This year I went with my host family to the school, curious about this whole coal walking thing they had been telling me about since last year. At about 8:30, a couple of teachers began setting up a large fire to burn down to coals in preparation for the big event. Every 20 minutes or so, they would put on a couple more logs, keeping the bonfire going. This became another game and the boys started taking running starts to jump over the flames. It was only after two boys, coming from different directions ran into each other and fell, that I heard parents and teachers reprimand for reckless behavior. And it was only after the flames jumped higher than the boys' heads that they took a rest at the game.
At 11:30, the firewood was gone and what was left was a large pile of glowing coals. As couple of teachers began raking out the coals to make a 2 meter walkway, people started asking me, "are you going to do it?" My brother Hugo told me that if I did if first, he would follow and then he took off his shoes and socks in preparation for my crossing. Diego was a tall skinny kid, who did the jahasa tatapyi ari every year and I watched him prepare himself, cool as a cucumber. Wanting to take advantage of the opportunity, but still highly doubtful about the success of the event, I began grilling Diego. "Really, you do it every year? Does it hurt? Does it feel hot? Really, dos it not hurt at all? I don't think I believe you. Seriously, you don't get burned... at all? And you just walk normally?" He patiently explained that no, it didn't hurt and no, you didn't get burned, and yes, you just walk normally. He said that if you are scared you will be burned, but there is no danger. Then he said he would walk across with me and hold my hand. I wasn't convinced and watched in disbelief as he calmly walked across the coals by himself. Others then followed his leand and one show-off danced his way through, upsetting the evenly raked coals.
By this time, the pressure was really on. "Come on Ali! Do it!" My host brother and mom were telling me. "Are you gonna do it?" I asked my host mom. "No!" She shook her head violently. "I'm too scared." Strangers heard the discussion and began to encourage me and then Diego (at least I think that's his name... I forgot the introduction in the excitement of it all) came over to grab my hand and pull me in front of the coals.
I still can't really believe it did it; it seems so insane. Nelly didn't even get a picture because she didn't snap it fast enough. It was quite an adrenaline rush and I will admit my hands were shaking afterwards. And my feet? They have 2 very small and extremely minor burns. Apparently I was still scared when I started walking.
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
and to you, welcome back
The last few months I have been absent from my blog for a variety of reasons which are too many and too complicated to explain here and now. But my most recent excuse is that I was on vacation. After staying put for over a year, I finally got the opportunity to go on vacation with my aunt and uncle. We visited both Brasil and Argentina before doing a very brief tour of Paraguay.
In Brasil we stayed one night in Sao Paulo and four nights in the Pantanal, the largest wetlands of the world. Of course you can`t see much of a city in one night and you could spend a lifetime in the Pantanal and still not see everything. I felt like our time was far too short to see everything that I wanted to see. It was an incredible and fantastic place... except they didn´t speak Spanish or Guarani and they didn`t drink any terere. I felt slightly displaced. After seeing an abundance of animals in the Pantanal, we headed to Iguazu falls in Argentina to see an abundance of water. It was at this point in the trip, my uncle informed me later, that I stoppped speaking English. I don`t think I was fully aware of what I was doing because it came so naturally, but I was told that if there was another person present, I spoke only in Spanish, even when that other person could speak in English. I completely forgot that my aunt and uncle couldn`t follow the conversation and sometimes turned to them as if they would jump in and add a comment but was quickly reminded by the looks on their faces that I would first have to translate. I would translate and then without noticing it, slip back into Spanish.
I didn't fully realize that I missed Pagaguay until we were getting ready to come back and I defnitely hadn't expected to miss it in the week and a half that I was gone. I thought I was sick of Paraguay and sick of the people, yet I found myself longing for both. It wasn't just the language that I was craving, although that was a key part of it. I was aching to sit around and drink terere and joke in Guarani. I wanted to stain my feet again with the red dirt on my street and greet every person I passed. There was something about the land that I missed, as if it had become a part of me.
On the day we left for Paraguay from Argentina, we were picked up by a driver and guide to escort us across teh Argentina border into Brasil and across the Brasilian border into Paraguay and finally drop us off at the airport. It just so happened that both the driver and guide were born and raised in paraguay and before I knew it, the guide and I were talking about Paraguay and its culture. I think we were mostly talking in Spanish, but t be honest, I couldn't tell you which parts of the conversation were in which language. Being from Paraguay, the guide also spoke Guarani and was shocked to hear that I did too. We made a few jokes and I finally heard the sounds coming from my mouth that had been absent for the last week and a half. It felt so good, yet strange after the time off, as if my mouth was scared to speak it again.
Eventually we came to the bridge that connects Brasil and Paraguay and I eagerly leaned forward in my seat, as if that would help us cross faster. As we crossed over onto Paraguayan soil, our guide turned to my aunt and uncle and said, "Welcome to Paraguay! And to you," he turned to me. "Welcome back."
In Brasil we stayed one night in Sao Paulo and four nights in the Pantanal, the largest wetlands of the world. Of course you can`t see much of a city in one night and you could spend a lifetime in the Pantanal and still not see everything. I felt like our time was far too short to see everything that I wanted to see. It was an incredible and fantastic place... except they didn´t speak Spanish or Guarani and they didn`t drink any terere. I felt slightly displaced. After seeing an abundance of animals in the Pantanal, we headed to Iguazu falls in Argentina to see an abundance of water. It was at this point in the trip, my uncle informed me later, that I stoppped speaking English. I don`t think I was fully aware of what I was doing because it came so naturally, but I was told that if there was another person present, I spoke only in Spanish, even when that other person could speak in English. I completely forgot that my aunt and uncle couldn`t follow the conversation and sometimes turned to them as if they would jump in and add a comment but was quickly reminded by the looks on their faces that I would first have to translate. I would translate and then without noticing it, slip back into Spanish.
I didn't fully realize that I missed Pagaguay until we were getting ready to come back and I defnitely hadn't expected to miss it in the week and a half that I was gone. I thought I was sick of Paraguay and sick of the people, yet I found myself longing for both. It wasn't just the language that I was craving, although that was a key part of it. I was aching to sit around and drink terere and joke in Guarani. I wanted to stain my feet again with the red dirt on my street and greet every person I passed. There was something about the land that I missed, as if it had become a part of me.
On the day we left for Paraguay from Argentina, we were picked up by a driver and guide to escort us across teh Argentina border into Brasil and across the Brasilian border into Paraguay and finally drop us off at the airport. It just so happened that both the driver and guide were born and raised in paraguay and before I knew it, the guide and I were talking about Paraguay and its culture. I think we were mostly talking in Spanish, but t be honest, I couldn't tell you which parts of the conversation were in which language. Being from Paraguay, the guide also spoke Guarani and was shocked to hear that I did too. We made a few jokes and I finally heard the sounds coming from my mouth that had been absent for the last week and a half. It felt so good, yet strange after the time off, as if my mouth was scared to speak it again.
Eventually we came to the bridge that connects Brasil and Paraguay and I eagerly leaned forward in my seat, as if that would help us cross faster. As we crossed over onto Paraguayan soil, our guide turned to my aunt and uncle and said, "Welcome to Paraguay! And to you," he turned to me. "Welcome back."
Monday, April 11, 2011
my favorite parts of the day
Recently a friend asked me in an email what my favorite part of the day was and I couldn't think of a specific thing that I do every day because every day is different. I began writing different things that I enjoy about my days here and as I continued writing, I kept thinking of more and more things to add to the list. I only wrote down a few things but I wanted to give myself a more complete list to remind myself of why I love this place because I have too many days when I only remind myself of why I don't like this place. There are some things on this list that while I love, I hate at the same time. Though not everything on the list is necessarily unique to Paraguay, some are, and ever one of them is something I will miss dearly when I leave. So Hannah, here is a complete list of "my favorite parts of the day," and Louis, these are the things that make me happy.
I love that:
...the air always smells fresh in the morning.
...people will still give up their sesat on a bus for elderly people and pregnant women.
...the Paraguayan soil and rains are fertil. I can almost literally watch my plants grow.
...I can go to the dispensa to buy and egg and stay for 2 hours drinking terere
...when kids pass my house to and from school, they should out "Ahleesohn!" repeatedly as they pass.
...in the summer my boss asked me if I had a hammack and then told me to enjoy my extra free time.
...I can wake up and drink coffee and watch the sunrise
...I have an open invitation to eat lunch, use the shower, spend the night, or stay forever 10 minutes down the road in either direction.
...when I meet a Paraguayan for the first time, I can expect with very few exceptions the same range of about 15 questions no matter who they are, including but not excluded to: Do you have a boyfriend? Do you have a boyfriend in the States? If you find a boyfriend can you bring him back with you? Do you know how to drink terere? do you know how to eat Paraguayan food? Do you know how to speak Guarani? Do you miss your family?
...you can pick leaves off of almost ay tree for a yuyo to put in your terere.
...you can search in the lawn for certain roots to use in terere.
...Paraguayans have a plant remedy for almost any ailment or medical problem you could think of, and a few extra for ones that you would probably never think of.
...they use "hape" at the end of any kind of event from a fiesta to shucking corn, or a dog in heat.
...a rainy day is a perfectly acceptable excuse to stay in bed and read all day.
...my host dad will walk into the middle of a meeting of women and walk around to greet and shake hands with everyone while they are still talking. Asi es la cultura.
...half of my women's commission is related to each other.
...within the limits of a few degrees and with very few exceptions, my entire community is related to each other. No joke.
...when people great each other they say, "nde guapa/a" (you are hard working) and the response is, "hee, che guapa/o" (yes, I am hard working).
...almost anything I do from baking a cake to walking half an hour to the ruta, to knowing a store in Asuncion that sells soap materials, to saying 3 words in Guarani makes me either guapa or vale (inteligent).
...I have time to do cool things like make homemade bread, read, plant flowers, write blogs, or just sit and talk with people.
...I have easily over 100 trees on my property.
...where I live right now is the most beautiful place I have ever lived in.
...I never have to worry about being late because everything here functions on la hora Paraguaya.
...almost all of my food products are far fresher than I ever got in the United States.
And maybe the thing that I love most about this country is that terere is univeral. The buisnessman, polititian, teacher, and feild worker all drink it and will invite you to share with them.
I love that:
...the air always smells fresh in the morning.
...people will still give up their sesat on a bus for elderly people and pregnant women.
...the Paraguayan soil and rains are fertil. I can almost literally watch my plants grow.
...I can go to the dispensa to buy and egg and stay for 2 hours drinking terere
...when kids pass my house to and from school, they should out "Ahleesohn!" repeatedly as they pass.
...in the summer my boss asked me if I had a hammack and then told me to enjoy my extra free time.
...I can wake up and drink coffee and watch the sunrise
...I have an open invitation to eat lunch, use the shower, spend the night, or stay forever 10 minutes down the road in either direction.
...when I meet a Paraguayan for the first time, I can expect with very few exceptions the same range of about 15 questions no matter who they are, including but not excluded to: Do you have a boyfriend? Do you have a boyfriend in the States? If you find a boyfriend can you bring him back with you? Do you know how to drink terere? do you know how to eat Paraguayan food? Do you know how to speak Guarani? Do you miss your family?
...you can pick leaves off of almost ay tree for a yuyo to put in your terere.
...you can search in the lawn for certain roots to use in terere.
...Paraguayans have a plant remedy for almost any ailment or medical problem you could think of, and a few extra for ones that you would probably never think of.
...they use "hape" at the end of any kind of event from a fiesta to shucking corn, or a dog in heat.
...a rainy day is a perfectly acceptable excuse to stay in bed and read all day.
...my host dad will walk into the middle of a meeting of women and walk around to greet and shake hands with everyone while they are still talking. Asi es la cultura.
...half of my women's commission is related to each other.
...within the limits of a few degrees and with very few exceptions, my entire community is related to each other. No joke.
...when people great each other they say, "nde guapa/a" (you are hard working) and the response is, "hee, che guapa/o" (yes, I am hard working).
...almost anything I do from baking a cake to walking half an hour to the ruta, to knowing a store in Asuncion that sells soap materials, to saying 3 words in Guarani makes me either guapa or vale (inteligent).
...I have time to do cool things like make homemade bread, read, plant flowers, write blogs, or just sit and talk with people.
...I have easily over 100 trees on my property.
...where I live right now is the most beautiful place I have ever lived in.
...I never have to worry about being late because everything here functions on la hora Paraguaya.
...almost all of my food products are far fresher than I ever got in the United States.
And maybe the thing that I love most about this country is that terere is univeral. The buisnessman, polititian, teacher, and feild worker all drink it and will invite you to share with them.
Friday, April 1, 2011
its the simple things
I have been putting off writing this blog for a while and I'm not really sure why. Maybe it is because of laziness, or maybe it is because I wasn't sure how to describe the relationship that I have with my 70-something year old neighbor. I guess Akilina and her husband Aurelio would be the closest thing I have to Paraguayan grandparents. They live about 2 minutes away from my house and I visit them often because she owns an almacen (small store). I often walk over there to buy a few things and will sit down to drink terere first and chat.
She has an old balance which she uses to measure the weight by kilo of the food she sells like flour, tomatoes, noodles, sugar, or onions. She first puts the weights on one side of the balance and then slowly pours out the flour or sugar with her measuring cup or changes around the tomatoes until both sides are even. Then without fail she will look up at me, widen her eyes, smile with her toothless gums, and sometimes add a little "hee hee," as if to say, "good for me." When I buy bananas from her, Aurelio always tells her to pick out the best ones for me and even though I am already getting them for a ridiculously low price, she usually gives me a couple extra for free.
One day I showed up and all of her mercaderia had recently been delivered and was sitting on her table. "You ordered milk this time," I said while rifling through the food items. "Yes. And you are going to help me put it all away," she told me. So I carried in all of the heavy items and then helped her figure out how much she needed to sell milk in order to make a profit.
Another day I was sitting with her drinking terere on her patio and watching her husband and son put long dried grass called kapi'i on the roof of thier patio extension. "Do you use that in your country for roofs?" she asked me, pointing at the kapi'i.
I considered saying while I don't remember it specifically, I was sure we had long grass in my country, though I don't have a feild full of it in my backyard. But according to California fire codes, said grass would not be used for roofing. I decided that would be too complicated an answer and said, "No we don't have that. It is actually not legal becasue it catches fire easily."
"But you don't have it?" she asked.
I hesitated. "No we don't."
"Oh, well that would be difficult then," she concluded. And that was that.
I think that is what I appreciate about her. The simpleness. She wasn't looking for an elaborate explanation of what my house is like in the United States, which is what some people ask me. She was just trying to imagine my house in another country with what she already knew. Instead of thinking that I am better than her because I am a rubia or thinking I am rich becasue I am from the United States, she just sees me as another person and that is what allows us to be friends.
I kept procrastinating writing this blog because I kept on trying to think of an elaborate way to describe our friendship, or a better way to tell the details. But the thing is, my point wasn't to tell you that she is in my women's commission or that we made peach jam together, or that I was invited to Aurelio's 80th birthday party or that they give me free bananas. I just wanted to tell you that though she is over 50 years older than me, she is my friend. It is simple, but that's why I like it.
She has an old balance which she uses to measure the weight by kilo of the food she sells like flour, tomatoes, noodles, sugar, or onions. She first puts the weights on one side of the balance and then slowly pours out the flour or sugar with her measuring cup or changes around the tomatoes until both sides are even. Then without fail she will look up at me, widen her eyes, smile with her toothless gums, and sometimes add a little "hee hee," as if to say, "good for me." When I buy bananas from her, Aurelio always tells her to pick out the best ones for me and even though I am already getting them for a ridiculously low price, she usually gives me a couple extra for free.
One day I showed up and all of her mercaderia had recently been delivered and was sitting on her table. "You ordered milk this time," I said while rifling through the food items. "Yes. And you are going to help me put it all away," she told me. So I carried in all of the heavy items and then helped her figure out how much she needed to sell milk in order to make a profit.
Another day I was sitting with her drinking terere on her patio and watching her husband and son put long dried grass called kapi'i on the roof of thier patio extension. "Do you use that in your country for roofs?" she asked me, pointing at the kapi'i.
I considered saying while I don't remember it specifically, I was sure we had long grass in my country, though I don't have a feild full of it in my backyard. But according to California fire codes, said grass would not be used for roofing. I decided that would be too complicated an answer and said, "No we don't have that. It is actually not legal becasue it catches fire easily."
"But you don't have it?" she asked.
I hesitated. "No we don't."
"Oh, well that would be difficult then," she concluded. And that was that.
I think that is what I appreciate about her. The simpleness. She wasn't looking for an elaborate explanation of what my house is like in the United States, which is what some people ask me. She was just trying to imagine my house in another country with what she already knew. Instead of thinking that I am better than her because I am a rubia or thinking I am rich becasue I am from the United States, she just sees me as another person and that is what allows us to be friends.
I kept procrastinating writing this blog because I kept on trying to think of an elaborate way to describe our friendship, or a better way to tell the details. But the thing is, my point wasn't to tell you that she is in my women's commission or that we made peach jam together, or that I was invited to Aurelio's 80th birthday party or that they give me free bananas. I just wanted to tell you that though she is over 50 years older than me, she is my friend. It is simple, but that's why I like it.
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
what language am i speaking in now?
"Then you mix it all in the... wait, Jake, how do you say balde in English?" I heard a chuckle and then, "bucket." "Oh ya, bucket!" I laughed and continued my explanation. I was doing a volunteer led training session with the new group of health trainees and as they had only been in country for about 2 weeks, they had not yet adopted the usual set of vocabulary words in Spanish and Guarani that most volunteers end up filtering into their everyday vocabulary. I was having trouble with a few words specifically and sometimes made no distinction between the languages. I thought I was speaking in English, but caught myself several times inserting a Spanish word for an English one. I think the trainees got a kick out of it and found it amusing that I stumbled so much over my words and the trainer too, laughed when he had to translate my mistakes.
Other than the phone calls I get from my mom every other week and the couple that I have gottne from friends, I have not spoken English with anyone who is not Peace Corps related since October when my mom came to visit me. By then it had only been 8 months since I had had a face to face conversation in English with someone who was not in Peace Corps. My mom said she did´t notice it that much, but I felt a huge delay in my English conversations. I found that I made more pauses in the middle of my sentences and had to stop to think of certain words. It was only by the end of the week that I felt like I was speaking English normally again, without pauses and blanks in my thoughts.
I have in the last few months found that Guarani is slowly infiltrating my Spanish the same way that Spanish infiltrated my English. There are certain words and phrases in Guarani that find their way into my mouth fast than Spanish ones. I was speaking to someone in Spanish about buying milk from my neighbors cow and I said, "Pero ella ...okamby muy tarde" (but she milks her cow very late). Then I laughed, "how do you say that in Spanish?"
I remember during training our trainer told us, "I came here speaking one language and I will leave here not being able to speak three." Even if people came here already speaking Spanish, they still had to learn Guarani. When you learn a language, you have to learn to think in that language and I suppose that is why we have adopted the Spanish or Guarani version of many words or phrases. Because the bucket is in Paraguay, it is not a bucket but a balde. In the same way, my school is my escuela, my high school is my colegio, and the field is the chakra. It seems that between volunteers there is a new language created, a strange hybrid mix of an English base, strongly seasoned with Spanish and Guarani. I have even sent and recieved text messages with other volunteers that are half in Spanish and half in English. Apparently, Spanish and Guarani have become such a part of my life that I dont even remember what language I am speaking in anymore.
Other than the phone calls I get from my mom every other week and the couple that I have gottne from friends, I have not spoken English with anyone who is not Peace Corps related since October when my mom came to visit me. By then it had only been 8 months since I had had a face to face conversation in English with someone who was not in Peace Corps. My mom said she did´t notice it that much, but I felt a huge delay in my English conversations. I found that I made more pauses in the middle of my sentences and had to stop to think of certain words. It was only by the end of the week that I felt like I was speaking English normally again, without pauses and blanks in my thoughts.
I have in the last few months found that Guarani is slowly infiltrating my Spanish the same way that Spanish infiltrated my English. There are certain words and phrases in Guarani that find their way into my mouth fast than Spanish ones. I was speaking to someone in Spanish about buying milk from my neighbors cow and I said, "Pero ella ...okamby muy tarde" (but she milks her cow very late). Then I laughed, "how do you say that in Spanish?"
I remember during training our trainer told us, "I came here speaking one language and I will leave here not being able to speak three." Even if people came here already speaking Spanish, they still had to learn Guarani. When you learn a language, you have to learn to think in that language and I suppose that is why we have adopted the Spanish or Guarani version of many words or phrases. Because the bucket is in Paraguay, it is not a bucket but a balde. In the same way, my school is my escuela, my high school is my colegio, and the field is the chakra. It seems that between volunteers there is a new language created, a strange hybrid mix of an English base, strongly seasoned with Spanish and Guarani. I have even sent and recieved text messages with other volunteers that are half in Spanish and half in English. Apparently, Spanish and Guarani have become such a part of my life that I dont even remember what language I am speaking in anymore.
Thursday, March 3, 2011
so you are german, right?
On my entering the office in the department of agriculture, a slightly overweight man standing in front of the secretary's desk turned around. "An angel just walked in behind me to guard me," he all but yelled out. Both of the office ladies froze to stare at me, the man took a step towards me, and the Paraguayan lady that was with me stepped further back, hiding behind me and the doorframe. Once again, I became the spotlight, a highly undesireable position for me. "Every day I have an angel to guard me and today I look up and there you are. You are my angel," the man continued.
"Yep, I'm your angel for the day," I joked. Then I turned to my friend, hoping to direct some of the attention off of me, "Or does he mean you?"
"No, He's talking about you," she said and quietly hid again in the shadows.
The secretaries had gone back to writing but were still listening and giving me frequent glances. The man advanced. "You speak Spanish, English?" he asked me in English with a heavy accent.
"English," I say.
"Are you German?" he continues in Spanish.
"No, I´m from the United States."
"Oh yah, you guys come over here already speaking our language and you speak Guarani. You study before you get here," he continues. As he lists American grouips he has come in contact with such as Jehovah's Witness and Mormans, I try and get in a side word by suggesting Peace Corps. "Oh, Peace Corps," he says. "But they are worse. They come over here with their military. Are you one of them?" I barely have time to tell him that yes I am a Peace Corps Volunteer but I'm not military before he continues. "Yah, you guys are all military. I've seen your office on Chaco Boreal, almost Mariscal Lopez. They have five guys out there with guns and they check everyone that goes in there," he tells me as hi mimicks frisking himself. I open my mouth to say that they just have to keep the office safe so they have Paraguayan police officers keep security, but this guy is on a role and is not about to stop to hear what I have to say. "You guys are all military and intelligence for your goverment. You come over here and you live all over and you know what we do and you tell your country. Do you have to write reports up?" he asks, his eyes boring into mine.
I am now feeling slightly uncomfortable, my friend has all but disappeared, the secretary is winking at me as if to tell me she's sorry, and the man is now about a foot away from me and looking larger than he did before. I start stuttering, trying to think of a non-implicating answer, although I know it will help my case very little at this point. The secretary calls him over to give him his papers and send him to the waiting room. He exits carefully, fully facing me and backing out of the doorway while telling me that my goverment knows what people in every pueblo eat. I find this particularly amusing as Paraguayans all accross the country differ very little in their eating habits.
Within less than three minutes I was called an angel, German, US military, and CIA. While my job description seems ever elusive to me, being a guardian angel, and handling weapons and high level security is definitely not part of it. And the only German word I know is "nein." While this was a particularly strange and more intense encounter, I have been called all of those things before and I'm sure I will hear them again. One lady in my site has I think asked me on five seperate occasions if I speak German and if I am from Germany. Just the other day I walked up to her house and she was talking to her daughter on the phone and told her that the German (me) had come to visit her. I have given her up as a lost case and didn't correct her. If people don't think I am military or intelligence, they usually thing I am a misisonary or studying in an exchange program. As if I wasn't already confused enough about who I am here and what I'm doing here, I have a lot of people trying to convince me that I am here for reasons that I'm not. Even after I explain what I am doing here, some people (including myself) still don't understand my job or why I would be crazy enough to give two years of my life with essentially no pay to "help people."
I used to be semi-insulted by claims like these but I have learned to take it as part of the deal and remember that one of the three goals of Peace Corps is to educate the host country about the United States. Unfortunately that doesn't go well when people try to tell me that I am in fact from Germany. So until I learn to speak German, sprout wings on my back, join the military, or am employed by the CIA, I will continue to refute all of those claims. Well, actually, even if the CIA does employ me, I´ll still deny it.
"Yep, I'm your angel for the day," I joked. Then I turned to my friend, hoping to direct some of the attention off of me, "Or does he mean you?"
"No, He's talking about you," she said and quietly hid again in the shadows.
The secretaries had gone back to writing but were still listening and giving me frequent glances. The man advanced. "You speak Spanish, English?" he asked me in English with a heavy accent.
"English," I say.
"Are you German?" he continues in Spanish.
"No, I´m from the United States."
"Oh yah, you guys come over here already speaking our language and you speak Guarani. You study before you get here," he continues. As he lists American grouips he has come in contact with such as Jehovah's Witness and Mormans, I try and get in a side word by suggesting Peace Corps. "Oh, Peace Corps," he says. "But they are worse. They come over here with their military. Are you one of them?" I barely have time to tell him that yes I am a Peace Corps Volunteer but I'm not military before he continues. "Yah, you guys are all military. I've seen your office on Chaco Boreal, almost Mariscal Lopez. They have five guys out there with guns and they check everyone that goes in there," he tells me as hi mimicks frisking himself. I open my mouth to say that they just have to keep the office safe so they have Paraguayan police officers keep security, but this guy is on a role and is not about to stop to hear what I have to say. "You guys are all military and intelligence for your goverment. You come over here and you live all over and you know what we do and you tell your country. Do you have to write reports up?" he asks, his eyes boring into mine.
I am now feeling slightly uncomfortable, my friend has all but disappeared, the secretary is winking at me as if to tell me she's sorry, and the man is now about a foot away from me and looking larger than he did before. I start stuttering, trying to think of a non-implicating answer, although I know it will help my case very little at this point. The secretary calls him over to give him his papers and send him to the waiting room. He exits carefully, fully facing me and backing out of the doorway while telling me that my goverment knows what people in every pueblo eat. I find this particularly amusing as Paraguayans all accross the country differ very little in their eating habits.
Within less than three minutes I was called an angel, German, US military, and CIA. While my job description seems ever elusive to me, being a guardian angel, and handling weapons and high level security is definitely not part of it. And the only German word I know is "nein." While this was a particularly strange and more intense encounter, I have been called all of those things before and I'm sure I will hear them again. One lady in my site has I think asked me on five seperate occasions if I speak German and if I am from Germany. Just the other day I walked up to her house and she was talking to her daughter on the phone and told her that the German (me) had come to visit her. I have given her up as a lost case and didn't correct her. If people don't think I am military or intelligence, they usually thing I am a misisonary or studying in an exchange program. As if I wasn't already confused enough about who I am here and what I'm doing here, I have a lot of people trying to convince me that I am here for reasons that I'm not. Even after I explain what I am doing here, some people (including myself) still don't understand my job or why I would be crazy enough to give two years of my life with essentially no pay to "help people."
I used to be semi-insulted by claims like these but I have learned to take it as part of the deal and remember that one of the three goals of Peace Corps is to educate the host country about the United States. Unfortunately that doesn't go well when people try to tell me that I am in fact from Germany. So until I learn to speak German, sprout wings on my back, join the military, or am employed by the CIA, I will continue to refute all of those claims. Well, actually, even if the CIA does employ me, I´ll still deny it.
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
why i do what i do
"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.
"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.
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