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.
Sunday, June 20, 2010
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.
Friday, May 28, 2010
Fiestahápe: I wish it was just a bad dream
I’ve never really been too into the whole party scene and I’ve never really been too into the whole dancing thing… as in, it’s actually somewhat painful for me to try and pretend like I know what I’m doing out on the dance floor and I’m pretty sure it’s painful for others to watch me. This last weekend there was a fiesta, or fiestahápe as we call it in the campo, in my site and I think I danced with about 10 guys (mas o menos, I lost count after 5) and said no or “later” to about as many guys that I said yes to. …But I get ahead of myself, first let me tell you a little about the fiesta Paraguaya.
They may differ a little, but generally there are two types of fiestas, quinciñeras (the “coming of age” party for 15 year old girls) and the fiestas that include the entire community. There are a few differences, but to me, they both have the same feel. The only difference is that the quinciñera tends to include a younger age group, a 15 year old in a white dress, and awkward group photos in front of the cake. I still haven’t figured out why they think this is a good place for pictures, but apparently it’s tradition. Both types of fiestas typically begin with an awkward hour or so of sitting around staring at the ground, the table, or your neighbor before anything actually happens. I have found that cleaning the dirt from under my nails and picking at my cuticles is a good use of this time, although that usually only takes about 15 minutes depending on how dirty my nails are. Sometimes there is a dinner, or some kind of a show that goes along with these community fiestas but whether there is or not, the main portion of the fiesta is devoted to dancing to blaring music until 3 or 4 in the morning.
We had a big fiesta in my community this weekend and I went with my mom and sister hoping that maybe I could put off the whole dancing thing for at least half the night. That of course didn’t happen and I don’t even think it was 6 o’clock before someone asked me to dance with him. After I said yes to the first guy (aka basically dragged onto the dance floor after my family told me I should dance with him) the offers never stopped. I don’t even remember how many guys I danced with, but I think it was close to ten and I gave quite a few excuses to many more offers. Luckily about 90% of Paraguayans dance as badly as I do (yes friends, it’s possible), so I really don’t look like a complete idiot while I’m dancing, just sort of like an idiot. I might not know what I’m doing, but apparently no one else does either so they’ll never know I really can’t dance. Dancing more than a couple of dances with the same guy is a sign that you are interested in him, so rather than show too much interest and to save myself from further embarrassment, I excused myself from my dance partner after one dance. Every time I sat down though, someone else would come up, or their friend would shove them over, to ask to dance within about 45 seconds after taking my seat. It was like there was a constant, unstoppable stream of men. I think every guy I danced with told me I was pretty, I had about 5 guys ask if I would be their girlfriend and then didn’t understand why I said no, I had 2 guys ask if I wanted to leave with them, and I had one guy practically beg for my number. That same guy also literally stopped in the middle of dancing to see if my eyes were blue or not. Lucky for me, a huge thunderstorm was headed our way, so the fiesta ended at the early hour of 8 and I got to not only leave the continuous offers to dance, but I also got to get a good nights sleep.
I guess I could be flattered by being the coveted dance partner, but I find it annoying for many reasons beginning with the fact that I don’t like to dance. It seems to be fact here that being “rubia” equals being pretty but I’m still struggling to understand that concept. They seemed to think that just knowing my name, my nationality and whether I’m single or not is enough to qualify someone to be my boyfriend. Unfortunately, attending community events, like fiestas is part of my job now. I guess I need to either learn to like dancing or make up some better excuses.
They may differ a little, but generally there are two types of fiestas, quinciñeras (the “coming of age” party for 15 year old girls) and the fiestas that include the entire community. There are a few differences, but to me, they both have the same feel. The only difference is that the quinciñera tends to include a younger age group, a 15 year old in a white dress, and awkward group photos in front of the cake. I still haven’t figured out why they think this is a good place for pictures, but apparently it’s tradition. Both types of fiestas typically begin with an awkward hour or so of sitting around staring at the ground, the table, or your neighbor before anything actually happens. I have found that cleaning the dirt from under my nails and picking at my cuticles is a good use of this time, although that usually only takes about 15 minutes depending on how dirty my nails are. Sometimes there is a dinner, or some kind of a show that goes along with these community fiestas but whether there is or not, the main portion of the fiesta is devoted to dancing to blaring music until 3 or 4 in the morning.
We had a big fiesta in my community this weekend and I went with my mom and sister hoping that maybe I could put off the whole dancing thing for at least half the night. That of course didn’t happen and I don’t even think it was 6 o’clock before someone asked me to dance with him. After I said yes to the first guy (aka basically dragged onto the dance floor after my family told me I should dance with him) the offers never stopped. I don’t even remember how many guys I danced with, but I think it was close to ten and I gave quite a few excuses to many more offers. Luckily about 90% of Paraguayans dance as badly as I do (yes friends, it’s possible), so I really don’t look like a complete idiot while I’m dancing, just sort of like an idiot. I might not know what I’m doing, but apparently no one else does either so they’ll never know I really can’t dance. Dancing more than a couple of dances with the same guy is a sign that you are interested in him, so rather than show too much interest and to save myself from further embarrassment, I excused myself from my dance partner after one dance. Every time I sat down though, someone else would come up, or their friend would shove them over, to ask to dance within about 45 seconds after taking my seat. It was like there was a constant, unstoppable stream of men. I think every guy I danced with told me I was pretty, I had about 5 guys ask if I would be their girlfriend and then didn’t understand why I said no, I had 2 guys ask if I wanted to leave with them, and I had one guy practically beg for my number. That same guy also literally stopped in the middle of dancing to see if my eyes were blue or not. Lucky for me, a huge thunderstorm was headed our way, so the fiesta ended at the early hour of 8 and I got to not only leave the continuous offers to dance, but I also got to get a good nights sleep.
I guess I could be flattered by being the coveted dance partner, but I find it annoying for many reasons beginning with the fact that I don’t like to dance. It seems to be fact here that being “rubia” equals being pretty but I’m still struggling to understand that concept. They seemed to think that just knowing my name, my nationality and whether I’m single or not is enough to qualify someone to be my boyfriend. Unfortunately, attending community events, like fiestas is part of my job now. I guess I need to either learn to like dancing or make up some better excuses.
Not for the faint of heart… or stomach
Mothers day came a week later in Paraguay than it did in the United States, so I spent this past weekend spending some good quality time with my host family. In addition to the 4 kids that live here, 4 of the other 5 children came to bid their mom happy mother’s day, so needless to say, there was a houseful. One of my host brothers had been joking with me the last couple days that he was going to have me help kill the pig for this special occasion. I told him yes while shaking my head no. While I can enjoy a good BBQ’ed fresh pig, I didn’t think I would have the courage to actually take the butcher knife and stab the pig in the heart which was exactly what my brother did while another brother was holding it down. I think it’s safe to say that was the goriest thing I have seen in my life and the whole time all I could think of was the movie “Babe” and couldn’t help but feel sorry for the pig while covering my mouth with my hand as my eyes widened which made my brothers laugh at me. I spent a good couple of hours watching my brothers de-hair (they used kitchen spoons by the way), skin, and cut up the pig. After it was fully slaughtered and parts separated (and I won’t go into detail, but yes I saw all of the insides), they threw it on a BBQ (aka sheet of metal on the ground held down my bricks, burning coals, and a raised square metal object that vaguely resembled a BBQ). A couple hours later, we ate said pig and I will say it was quite delicious.
When they had removed the intestines I had thought they brought them into the house but hadn’t done further investigation into the uses of pig intestines because I really didn’t want to know. That night my mom asked me if I was hungry for dinner and guess what was on my plate when I sat down? Yep, I sat down to dinner with my mom and dad with a plate full of pig guts. “It’s a specialty here,” my dad said, “don’t worry, it won’t do anything to you” (he likes to say this when I say I’m not hungry. I think he thinks I’m worried about getting fat, so he tells me that things like potatoes and fatty meat won’t make me gain weight. I’m not sure thought what he thinks would make me gain weight since he says that about pretty much everything.) I grabbed a big piece of sopa (Paraguayan corn bread) and cut off a little piece of meat. Unlike the meat I’d eaten earlier, this part of the pig is not so yummy and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t get the picture out of my head of my mom removing the intestines from the pig earlier that day which made it all that much harder to eat. Somehow between large bites of sopa and carefully picking out all the green peppers on my plate, I got through one small piece and felt like I had been sitting down for long enough to excuse myself. I sat there for another minute to let my dad finish whatever he was talking about and as I was spacing out, I looked up and lo and behold, there was the pigs head hanging on a beam right by the kitchen table, gore and all. It was all I could do not to let my jaw drop to the floor at the site and I wasn’t really sure whether I wanted to laugh, be disgusted, or just be straight up confused. When I later asked my brothers why the pigs head was in the house, they seemed confused by my question and they just said, “we eat it.” So the next day I was again treated to unidentifiable pieces of pig meat. Seeing that I wasn’t exactly scarfing down my food, my brother asked me which part of the pig I liked and as I looked down at my plate, the only thing I could think of was, “the part that doesn’t still have hair on it.” He thought this was pretty funny and agreed that he wasn’t too keen on pig guts or skin either. While he started searching for actual pieces of meat for me but I found that I’d already lost my appetite. I feel like there’s supposed to be a moral of the story, or a lesson learned type of thing, but that’s really all I’ve got. I watched my brother kill a pig and I ate unidentifiable pig parts. End of story.
When they had removed the intestines I had thought they brought them into the house but hadn’t done further investigation into the uses of pig intestines because I really didn’t want to know. That night my mom asked me if I was hungry for dinner and guess what was on my plate when I sat down? Yep, I sat down to dinner with my mom and dad with a plate full of pig guts. “It’s a specialty here,” my dad said, “don’t worry, it won’t do anything to you” (he likes to say this when I say I’m not hungry. I think he thinks I’m worried about getting fat, so he tells me that things like potatoes and fatty meat won’t make me gain weight. I’m not sure thought what he thinks would make me gain weight since he says that about pretty much everything.) I grabbed a big piece of sopa (Paraguayan corn bread) and cut off a little piece of meat. Unlike the meat I’d eaten earlier, this part of the pig is not so yummy and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t get the picture out of my head of my mom removing the intestines from the pig earlier that day which made it all that much harder to eat. Somehow between large bites of sopa and carefully picking out all the green peppers on my plate, I got through one small piece and felt like I had been sitting down for long enough to excuse myself. I sat there for another minute to let my dad finish whatever he was talking about and as I was spacing out, I looked up and lo and behold, there was the pigs head hanging on a beam right by the kitchen table, gore and all. It was all I could do not to let my jaw drop to the floor at the site and I wasn’t really sure whether I wanted to laugh, be disgusted, or just be straight up confused. When I later asked my brothers why the pigs head was in the house, they seemed confused by my question and they just said, “we eat it.” So the next day I was again treated to unidentifiable pieces of pig meat. Seeing that I wasn’t exactly scarfing down my food, my brother asked me which part of the pig I liked and as I looked down at my plate, the only thing I could think of was, “the part that doesn’t still have hair on it.” He thought this was pretty funny and agreed that he wasn’t too keen on pig guts or skin either. While he started searching for actual pieces of meat for me but I found that I’d already lost my appetite. I feel like there’s supposed to be a moral of the story, or a lesson learned type of thing, but that’s really all I’ve got. I watched my brother kill a pig and I ate unidentifiable pig parts. End of story.
Thursday, May 20, 2010
lost in translation
As I am currently writing this, I have been in site for almost three weeks, and have only had one conversation in English with a volunteer a few kilometers away. Its really not that bad except that now when I go to bed I start automatically translating my thoughts into Spanish and then random words into Guarani. But as much as my obsessive and unconcious language habits are affecting my normal sleeping pattern, Im still struggling to actually hold a conversation in Guarani. My brother has taken it as his personal duty to teach me the language, but him speaking to me usually consists of him saying a sentence five times and me staring at him with my eyes scrunched up and my mouth kinda hanging open because even after the fifth time, I still only understand a word or two which means I have no idea what hes saying. It`s also a fun story when I get intoduced to someone new and the family has the conversation for me in Guarani as if I can understand anything which is actually usually true except for the introduction part. That part I understand well. This is usually how the introductions go in Guarani,
Stranger to family member "Whats her name?"
Family member "Alison."
Stranger "O, Alison. Shes rubia, pretty."
Then the family member usually looks at me with a little smile and a little sense of pride at their rubia sister.
Stranger "Where does she live?"
Family member "Shes living with us, but she will be living with someone on calle´i soon."
Stranger "E´a! Is she happy here?" (As if my family member was more qualified than I am to answer this question.)
Family member, "Yes shes happy here" (then in Spanish to me) "Right Ali, you´re happy here?"
Me in Guarani, "Yes, I´m happy here"
At my sudden input in Guarani, the stranger´s eyes widen a little, jaws drop and then they quickly turn to the family member again.
"Does she understand Guarani?"
Me "Yes, I understand a little Guarani." This then always gets the biggest reaction.
"Ha! A little! I understand a little Guarani!" After they have repeated what I said, they then either grab me by the shoulders and shake me a little, turn to the person behind them and say, "She speaks a little Guarani!" or I get a mitakuña´ipora. (That literally means pretty little young lady and is quickly becoming a favorite nickname for me among the older women.) No matter what I say, they always repeat it and it always puts a smile on their faces.
Of course, not all my conversations go all that smoothly. The other day I went to visit my future neighbor and was feeling pretty good about how the conversation was going even with the typical pauses of silence that are typical for Paraguayan conversations. I was feeling pretty good about my Spanish abilities and even throwing in whole Guarani phrases and sentences. She had said something about my dog and then apparently changed the conversation to her daughter without me realizing what had happened and I continued talking about my dog. A couple minutes later I realized we were both confused and with a little bit of embarassment and laughter, and a few "wait who?" and "wait, what?" I realized I had just been describing her daughter as a dog. We both laughed a little and Im sure she went and told her husband what I said when I left and I have no doubt that she told her daughter when she came home. I could be super embarassed about that, but I think Ill just add it to the list of stupid Ali moments that is getting longer and longer by the day, like calling my ears a very specific male body part in Guarani, leaving a store with a half kilo of raisins because they looked at me funny when I said "I want this much," or telling my brother that I was hot (as in attractive) instead of telling him the water felt hot to me.
During training, our trainer often said that he came to Paraguay able to speak one language and will leave not being able to speak three. I think the same thing applies to me. I have had more than one person tell me that my English sucks now and I fully believe them. When I write in Enlgish I usually have to sit and think about how to spell perfectly normal, every day words, and when I speak in English I find myself throwing in random Spanish verbs. I guess theres not much to do about that except keep struggling through the Guarani and try to avoid describing anyone else as a dog.
Stranger to family member "Whats her name?"
Family member "Alison."
Stranger "O, Alison. Shes rubia, pretty."
Then the family member usually looks at me with a little smile and a little sense of pride at their rubia sister.
Stranger "Where does she live?"
Family member "Shes living with us, but she will be living with someone on calle´i soon."
Stranger "E´a! Is she happy here?" (As if my family member was more qualified than I am to answer this question.)
Family member, "Yes shes happy here" (then in Spanish to me) "Right Ali, you´re happy here?"
Me in Guarani, "Yes, I´m happy here"
At my sudden input in Guarani, the stranger´s eyes widen a little, jaws drop and then they quickly turn to the family member again.
"Does she understand Guarani?"
Me "Yes, I understand a little Guarani." This then always gets the biggest reaction.
"Ha! A little! I understand a little Guarani!" After they have repeated what I said, they then either grab me by the shoulders and shake me a little, turn to the person behind them and say, "She speaks a little Guarani!" or I get a mitakuña´ipora. (That literally means pretty little young lady and is quickly becoming a favorite nickname for me among the older women.) No matter what I say, they always repeat it and it always puts a smile on their faces.
Of course, not all my conversations go all that smoothly. The other day I went to visit my future neighbor and was feeling pretty good about how the conversation was going even with the typical pauses of silence that are typical for Paraguayan conversations. I was feeling pretty good about my Spanish abilities and even throwing in whole Guarani phrases and sentences. She had said something about my dog and then apparently changed the conversation to her daughter without me realizing what had happened and I continued talking about my dog. A couple minutes later I realized we were both confused and with a little bit of embarassment and laughter, and a few "wait who?" and "wait, what?" I realized I had just been describing her daughter as a dog. We both laughed a little and Im sure she went and told her husband what I said when I left and I have no doubt that she told her daughter when she came home. I could be super embarassed about that, but I think Ill just add it to the list of stupid Ali moments that is getting longer and longer by the day, like calling my ears a very specific male body part in Guarani, leaving a store with a half kilo of raisins because they looked at me funny when I said "I want this much," or telling my brother that I was hot (as in attractive) instead of telling him the water felt hot to me.
During training, our trainer often said that he came to Paraguay able to speak one language and will leave not being able to speak three. I think the same thing applies to me. I have had more than one person tell me that my English sucks now and I fully believe them. When I write in Enlgish I usually have to sit and think about how to spell perfectly normal, every day words, and when I speak in English I find myself throwing in random Spanish verbs. I guess theres not much to do about that except keep struggling through the Guarani and try to avoid describing anyone else as a dog.
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