During my first three months of training, I had a couple of dreams that stuck out to me and made me laugh. I was still going through huge adjustments, like learning to wash my clothes by hand. It was so tiring and time consuming to my and my hands ached for hours afterwards. I couldn’t help but feel awkward as I laboriously scrubbed every inch of my jeans while sitting next to my host mom who busted out three pieces of clothing to my one. I was also still figuring out how and where to buy things I needed. There wasn’t any “normal” grocery store, nor was there a “find-it-all-in-one-place” store. Milk and yogurt came in plastic bags and they sold food by the kilo. In many stores you had to ask for the exact quantity of food that you wanted rather than picking it out yourself and stores seemed to have a rather sad assortment of options. In response to my struggles, I dreamed of using a washing machine and the beautiful ease with which I could use it. I also dreamed that I shopped at Target, a glorious place that offered almost anything I could ask for.
Now, a year-and-a-half into my stay in Paraguay, my dreams and my opinions have changed a bit. I just got back to Paraguay from a three week visit to the States and I was shocked and surprisingly please by a variety of things. I’m sure those watching my reactions were quite entertained. As I flew into Los Angeles, I was conscious of my jaw hanging open at the shock of the enormity of the city. It seemed there was no end to the buildings! My first night in the states, I took off my shoes and started giggling at the feeling of carpet squishing between my toes. My first morning, I opened up the refrigerator and stood there staring for about five full seconds at the incomprehensible amount of food piled in front of me. I went to the beach with my cousins and before my sunscreen was fully soaked in, I went running like a child into the waves, giggling with excitement. I had almost forgotten how good the ocean water felt.
To put this into a little more perspective you need to remember that I live in a very rural area of a almost completely rural country. There are 300 people living in about 100 houses, stretched out between two different streets and about 12 kilometers in my site. This is now normal to me instead of the two dozen houses you would find on one half-kilometer street in the United States. I grew up in the suburbs of LA, thinking that the 60,000 residents of my town seemed few. Now when I go into Asuncion, the capitol and largest city of Paraguay, which boasts of one million people (suburbs included), I get stressed out and overwhelmed.
So here are my experiences with washing machines and Target aver a year-and-a-half of their absence.
I was so excited when I did my first load of laundry that I went skipping out of the laundry room yelling, “Mom! It’s so easy! You just throw your clothes in, pour some soap in, and push a button. You don’t even have to work for it! And it doesn’t even matter when it’s raining. And when it’s done, you just put it in the dryer and it dries it for you!” It felt like a revelation to me, too good to be true. There is, I will admit, a small satisfaction I get from hand washing and air-drying my clothes, but I can’t say that scrubbing red dirt (and with it the color) out of my jeans is something I will ever miss.
My visits to Target and other large stores in general however, was quite a different experience. Even after several visits to those stores in the 3 weeks I was home, I felt somehow traumatized upon leaving. As soon as I walked in, my senses were assaulted with large sale signs, items stacked in front of and in between aisles for maximum advertisement, mood music, people talking over the music, smells of plastic and food and far too buttery popcorn, bright and flashy packages, and lights that made everything look shiny. I distinctly remember trailing behind my friend during my first excursion to Target and I literally stopped when I saw the cheese aisle. Cheese is a luxury for me in Paraguay. Unless I buy farmer cheese in site, I only get a couple chunks of mozzarella if I splurge when I go into Asuncion. I could not comprehend the rows of grated cheese, shredded cheese, jack cheese, cheddar cheese, mild cheddar cheese, sharp cheddar cheese, extra-sharp cheddar cheese, pepper jack cheese, swiss cheese, mozzarella cheese, Mexican blend shredded cheese, and I don’t even know what other kinds of cheese, all packaged brightly by several different brands in various sizes for convenience. Then I passed the cereal and bread aisle. There was an entire aisle for bread and an entire aisle for cereal. I could hardly comprehend why the amount of bread and cereal was necessary and even possible.
I mostly spend my time trailing after people in these stores, not really knowing what to do with myself. My heartbeat always quickened and I was easily and very quickly confused, loosing track of every task at hand. My second visit to a large grocery store almost made me cry and my first visit to Target almost sent me into panic. And the mere thought of Costco… well, we won’t go there… I’m fairly sure that most people though I was just exaggerating, but whether anyone but other volunteers believe me, I promise I was not exaggerating.
When I got back to site, I went down the street to the almacen to do some “Paraguayan campo” shopping. I was very warmly greeted after my long absence and invited to sit down and drink mate. She got my needed food items off her shelves and asked me how my trip was. Granted, I had far less food options (she had run out of tomatoes, one of the three vegetables she stocks), but this time, I wasn’t bothered at all.
After all of that, here are my conclusions: washing machines are absolutely worth dreaming about. Target, on the other hand is definitely not. In fact, I don’t believe I will be sorry if life never permits me to enter another Target again.
Monday, July 25, 2011
Monday, July 11, 2011
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
walking on fire
"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.
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.
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