The Long Goodbye, Part 2

I am incredibly busy in site right now, and that’s exactly how its supposed to be.  During training they told us all these things about how your service is going to be.  They explain that, at least for agriculture volunteers, the first few months of service are going to feel slow. Then, most volunteers move into their own house and things speed up.  The first year mark rolls around and volunteer projects are getting off the ground.  Then, the second year just flies by.  Community members know the volunteer and have more confidence in her, meaning the second half of the second year is just plain busy.

Tereré

That’s exactly how it went for me.

I drank a LOT of tereré in the first few months with EVERYONE.  It didn’t fee like I was doing much, and I worried that I was a “bad” volunteer.  But that long community integration time has been paying off this second year.  I’m glad I did worry to much about doing charlas and tallers (lessons and workshops) in my first few months, my language wasn’t good enough anyway.  The result of waiting, is that now people KNOW me and are (mostly) willing to listen to me.

There is also something they talked about in training, called the “emotional rollercoaster.”  It talks about the emotional ups and downs that most volunteers experience.  This is the best link I could find.  Basically it breaks down, in astounding detail, the highs and lows of service.  There are several swings in the 10 weeks of training, then a little peak when you get to site, then a dip as you relies what exactly your in for for the next two years.  It goes up again as you settle into life in the country. There is a peek at the year mark and a dip directly after; perhaps a indicating that your pleased with how far you have come in a year, and then the realization that you have a year left.  Then it evens out for most of the second year.  Finally, it dips at 2 to 3 months before your COS (close of service) date; the time during which you are worrying about the future, trying to finish up your work, and saying goodbye to the people you have grown to love and quite likely will never see again.

You should all be impressed that I limited my self to just three tree planting photos...

During training I rolled my eyes and for the most part ignored these predictions.  But I came a cross the paper detailing these ups and downs about a month ago, and was absolutely astonished at how accurate they were to my own experience.  Apparently they actually know what they are talking about in training.

One of the schools.

On top of being busy with work in site, there is also the astounding amount of paperwork necessary to leave Peace Corps.  Remember all that paperwork you had to do to get into Peace Corps, well you have to do almost as much to leave it!  I was all set to start applying for jobs while in-country, but I have decided to just wait until I get back to the states.  The busyness and my oh-so-slow internet connection, just make it too difficult.  Since almost no one in my community knows I have a computer, they don’t realize that I’m actually working when I’m inside my house.

English Class!

I finally met my “follow up” this week.  For the most part, Peace Corps Paraguay has a 6 year, three volunteer, rotation for any given site. The idea is that there is a “first time” volunteer, and then two separate “follow-up” volunteers.  I was a first time volunteer. I was my community’s first resident volunteer.  My responsibility was to build a foundation of understanding and good will upon which follow up volunteers could build, along with continuing any projects.  The fact that my community wanted another volunteer after me, and was viewed by Peace Corps as a good functioning site for one, is fantastic.  I think I got a really good follow up and I am very hopeful for her and for the community.  I absolutely wish her the best (I’m not saying her name or posting a photo because I haven’t asked her permission).  She will have a very different service that I did (everyone’s service is unique), but I think she and the community will do great things together!

Piña Poty, the Women's Committee.

I know I started out this post saying how busy I am.  But I wrote that several weeks ago, now its much more tranquillo.  I am mostly just wrapping up my classes and packing up my house… and saying goodbye.

Adventures in the Campo

My cat, Perejil.

I was going to do a "The Long Goodbye" part 2 post.  But I'll save that for next week.  For now, here are a few short tidbits about my adventures in the campo.

A TREE NEARLLY FELL ON MY HOUSE.  

There was a series of storms that knocked the electricity and water for three days. Shortly after the first storm hit, and in the brief calm before the second, my neighbors came over and asked if I was ok.  I assumed they were concerned because in a storm two days previous, my roof had nearly blown off (we had nailed it back down securely earlier in the day), and they knew that I was afraid of thunder.  Unfortunately there is no where to hide during a storm, other than under the covers, which end up getting soaked by water blowing in through the three inch gap between where my walls start, and where my roof starts.

The part of the roof that nearly blew off.  Also, note the lack of tapa-junots in between the boards, allowing the sun to shine and the wind to blow- inside the house.  This is the room that actually has SOME tapa junots.  Some day I'll post a photo of the other room that lacks them all together.

Look at that lovely gap between the wall and roof! This is what I call air conditioning! 

However my neighbors then said I should come outside and “mira un poco!” (take a little look).  And there, illuminated by flashes from distant lightning, was a tall, formally upright tree with half its base uprooted, leaning precariously over my little cabin… in fact right over the spot where my bed was.  I considered my options, and decided I would sleep in the kitchen, so if the tree fell on my shack, the coming storm at least I wouldn’t be in the direct line of its fall.  However, my neighbor got a long strong rope and tied it to a pieces of thick bamboo.  With another 20 foot bamboo pole, he wedged the line into a fork in the branches.  As the next storm started to arrive, he tied the other end of the rope to my peach tree, and pulled the line taunt. As far as we could tell, as the rain started to fall harder and the lightning illuminated his work, it looked probably that IF the tree fell tonight it would pulled from its path enough to land beside the house, or possibly just knick the corner of the kitchen. The storms also resulted in three days without electricity or water.  Asi es la vida.

The tree, formally upright, leaning precariously over my bedroom.

The oh-so-strong peach tree thats stoping the other tree from falling on me.

Also, here is a photo of a different tree, from an earlier storm, that managed to miss both my house and my latrine, but just barely.  Doesn’t look like we are going to have another drought this summer!

Thats my latrine in the back ground...

In other news, here is my day from my life about 2 weeks ago: 

Part One- My chicken had apparently been stuck down a dry, unwalled well for several days. After attempting to lower several children into the well (ignoring my pleas not to), my neighbors lowered a homemade ladder and an adult sort of repelled to the ladder and climbed down. The chicken was retrieved, and my neighbor made it back up too. He requests a 5mil bottle of caña (sugar cane s

You'll never run away again...

piret as payment.  I ate the chicken a few days later with two visiting Peace Corps trainees.

Part Two- Our Women's Committee meeting is interrupted when a kid comes to inform us that the town drunk is hassling the town hothead/owner of the allmacen (a "store" that sells alcohol, onions and toilet paper). Several señoras literally run off to manage their husbands. Later in the day, three of the drunk's six kids come by my house... and hang out for HOURS. I don't have the heart to turn them away...

Part Three- My neighbors fixed my garden fence that blew down in the storm last week. I'm very grateful, but they also "cleaned" the garden, thus hoeing down the red onions, thyme, and broccoli.  The next storm blew it down again, and seeing as how I'm leaving in December, I'm not going to bother fixing it.

Part Four- The water from my spigot (can you BELIEVE that is the right spelling) has returned to its normal semi-cloudy color. It was running "Paraguayan dirt" red this morning as I attempted to do my laundry.

This is the color of the "Paraguayan dirt red."

Pets: The Life and Death of Campo Mascotas.

Carrot.  Such a wonderful, faithful little dog.

A month ago, in the midst of a busy week at site, tragedy struck.  My dog, Carrot, died.  And it was my fault.  I went in to Santani on Friday, and Carrot the dog, followed me to the ruta like she always does.   This in and of itself is dangerous and is something I should have trained her out of doing long ago.  But I always rather like the company on the long walk to the ruta, and the usually extended wait for the bus.  But this last time I went to the ruta, I walked down the highway a bit to find a shadier spot to sit and wait.  Carrot accompanied me, brining her in much closer proximity to the racing trucks and motos that she normally gets.  Apparently, moments after the bus arrived and I left for Santani, a truck sailed by instantly killing her.

The family at the ruta where I leave my bike told me of her fate once I returned.  Someone else at the ruta had a car and we brought her back to my house.  Later that day, I picked a nice shady spot under the trees in my front yard with a good view, and buried her.

I still think having a dog was one of the best decisions, in terms of my mental health, that I made here.  Having a dog who would be beside herself with joy when ever I came home, meant that no matter how my day had gone, it always got a little better.  Dogs also help create a structure and a rough schedule to life.  Although out here in the campo, dogs are pretty self sufficient.

Berenjena when she was just a pup.

I had another dog before Carrot, named Berenjena.  But she eventually decided to live at my host family’s house instead of mine.  So now she is their dog.  The only thing that stuck, was the name.  However, even Bejenjena might be on her way out of this world.  She refuses to eat most of the time (she wont eat the carne my host family gives her, or the dog food I try to feed her on the rare occasions she deigns to visit my house).  I gave her drops in case she had stomach worms but it had no effect.  My host father said he looked into Berenjena’s eyes and saw death.  He predicts she will not live for much longer.

If Berenjena dies, I will have lost two dogs and one cat during my time in Paraguay (I had a cat-not pictured- for a short time last year, but it disappeared in August and never returned.  I assume it died).  That is not a very good track record. 

Its not all bad.  I have had a wonderful cat for several months now, named Perejil.  He seems healthy and happy in my house.  However due the fate most of my pets seem to face, I was hesitant to get another dog… But an English speaking Paraguayan friend of mine offered me a little female puppy, and I just couldn’t say no…  I have named her Pepper.  She is very very adorable. Tonight is her first night in my house!

Clearly Perejil enjoys the space heater as much as I do.

My new dog! Se llama Pepper.

Fiesta Patronal, Semana Santa and Chipa

Its been a busy few months at site, so I don’t have a proper blog post for you.  This will be a blog post in photo form, with a few clarifying comments for each photo.  The first 6 photos are from the Fiesta Patronal (Patron Saints Day) for my community.  San Jose, March 19th.  The other 8 photos are from Semana Santa (Holy Week).  Thats they week leading up to easter, which in many Latin American countries, is actually more important than Easter Sunday itself.

Fiesta Patronal

I included this photo because of the grain plants on the priest's stole. Super appropriate for such an agricultural society.

The babys of the community got baptized.  Their families are so proud

The women of the community cooking lots of food for everyone.  They were really flattered that I wanted to photograph them while they worked.  Cooking is something they take pride in, but it is not very frequently acknowledged.

So much food!

Na Oheniea and some of her grand children.

Now on to Semana Santa... and CHIPA!

We made the traditional food for Semana Santa: chipa.

      

Look! My name in chipa!

This is a tatakua.  Basically a brick oven especially for Paraguayan specialties... like chipa.

Baking the chipa.

More chipa...

On the Thursday of Semana Santa (the biggest meal of the week), I ate dinner with my favorit host family.

A modest but delicious spread of bbq chicken, sopa paraguaya (not actually a soup), mandioca (yucca) and soda.  After lunch we snacked on... you guessed it: chipa.

Dont Look Too Closely or The Story of the Horse Spider

It all started calmly enough. I was sitting on my bed, messing around on my computer. I was enjoying the guilt-free lazy day created by the rain. Normally during the summer, we get plenty of these days where everything grinds to a halt due to rain. But thanks to the drought, this was only the second one I had had in months. It officially fall, so I doesn’t really count as a lazy summer day anyway.

So, as I said, I was messing around on facebook, reading news articles on various websites, and trying to find PCVs in Peru who I could visit on my planed vacation in July/ August. Out of the corner of my eye, about three feet away, I see something crawl out from underneath my rompero (dresser). I assume, of course, that it is one of the frog/toads that have been infesting my house by scores for the past few months, or at worst it might be a mouse (although it was moving far too slowly).

Oh how wrong I was.

All of that flashed through my mind as a turned my head slightly to the left to see what it was. It was NOT at frog, toad, or mouse. It was, in fact, a TARANTULA. A very large, very hairy, tarantula.

I am not afraid of much, however spiders (and snakes and loud peals of thunder) terrify me in a profound way. I screamed (loudly) several times, and as soon as I unfroze myself I ran next door. I shakily clapped my hands (clapping hands outside a house is equivalent to ringing a door bell), and when my neighbors immerged I stammered “hay un ñandu kavaju en me dormitorio!” Which translates in jopara (Spanish Guarani mix) to “there is a horse spider [tarantula] in my bedroom!” I was literarily shaking, and clutching my sweatshirt up by my neck with both hands.

“Did you kill it?” my neighbor, Heronimo, asked. I shake my head.

“Do you want me to kill it?” I nod my head. His señora laughs as he grabs his machete and we head back to my house.

I give him a flashlight, mumble something along the lines of “abajo de el rombero” (beneath the dresser), and point a trembling hand in that direction. Heronimo, peers underneath the dresser, and suggests we move my suitcase and banjo case, which are wedged between the rompero and the wall.

I say “Oima, pero, no puedo ayudarte. Tengo demasiado miedo” (Okay, but I can’t help you. I am too afraid.) . And its true I can’t make myself go near that corner of the room, and its not a very big room to begin with. Hernonimo moves the items and placed them on my bed.

I, not wanting to be touch the floor incase it runs out from beneath my belongings, crouch on a chair by the other corner. This perch allows me to see, what he is doing, but stay relatively safe (or so I convince myself).

“Ah, there’s the horse spider” he says in Guarani, and delicately chops the thing partly in half. Heronimo picks it up with the tip of the machete, and takes it outside. I remain quaking on my ridiculous chair perch, as he fills in the hole it probably entered through with brick, and puts my belongings back in the corner.

He grins and says “they can’t kill you, but they are dangerous.” I am so grateful, that my thank you don’t seem like enough. I don’t have much food in the house (I’m planning doing a shopping in town tomorrow assuming it doesn’t rain), so look around and finally give him a bug repellent incense spiral that his señora likes to use sometimes. I’m sure they think I am crazy, but I am just so appreciative that that thing is gone. I ask Heronimo if he things there are more tarantulas in my house. His eyes dart underneath my bed, and he says “ikatu” (there might be, maybe), and he heads back to his house.

I think the last time I was this scared was when I got stuck at the top of a double Farris wheel (picture an “8” going around in circles), by myself. I was probably 12 years old. I’m not nearly as frightened of spiders as I was when I first arrived in Paraguay. I am able to kill most of them with out to much fuss using a shoe. But ñandu kavaju, are just a different class of terrifying.

In many ways, I feel like I am fairly tough by both American and Paraguayan standards. I am not afraid to travel in foreign countries or to cities by myself. I have no problem living by myself, and I’m not afraid of the dark (two very common earnest questions from my community). I can smash or sweep out (almost) all manner of bugs, and will pick up and toss into the yard frog/toads without even thinking about it (many Paraguayans seem to fear, or be discussed by, frog/toads). I am not afraid to swim and no longer have a fear of heights. I can kill and prepare a chicken. I’ll eat anything once, and don’t have a problem dealing with blood, vomit or other bodily fluids. Roaches and bats hardly make an impression on me at all.

In other words, I am normally not a cowardly person. But dang if that “horse spider” didn’t humble me. Its been two hours and my heart has finally stopped racing and the adrenaline has left me. I feel the blood running back to my extremities. I’m still a little twitchy. My eyes are darting to any shadow that seems to move, and I definitely gave a little yelp when my dog sneezed, and another one when a frog/toad jumped into the room.

I’m trying not to think about the fact that they can climb (a fact I hadn’t thought about until a friend, trying to sympathize, mentioned she had found one on her pillow, a few months ago). I’m trying not to think about the fact that if I need to use the bathroom in the middle of the night, I’m going to have to cross the path where the “horse spider” crawled. In fact I cant physically put more than a yard and a half between me and the rompero from whence it came.

Sorry there is no photo with this post. It would have been bleary anyway.

Solitude, Cotton, and Luffas

Clearly I am the best source of entertainment for miles around. I miss privacy.

Solitude and Judgment.

It has taken me several weeks to decide to post this update, mostly because it is rather pessimistic in tone (its not completely negative so keep reading to the end!). Its suggested in training, that we limit our most negative thoughts to our journals and not blog or write letters home about it. Still I felt it was important to express some of my frustrations, disappointments and worries here, because those, along with the good things, are part of the Peace Corps experience too. Frequently when people talk about the Peace Corps they give you a cursory warning, along the lines of the famous “the hardest job you’ll ever love” line. But there are some significant changes that can happen to people, especially when they are strong enough, healthy enough, and busy enough to stay in site for long stretches of time. For example, I feel myself becoming a more solitary, pensive person. I spend a lot of my time at site sitting and listening to other people while I struggle to communicate an idea, plan or joke. I DO talk to people, but I also spend a lot of time just hearing words fall over me as I try and peace together the meaning. Additionally I spend my nights and siestas alone. I am at once lonely, and intensely grateful to finally have some privacy.

Recently, when I’m in Asuncion and have gotten to hanging out with volunteers, I find myself speaking less and less. I hear their words wash over me too. I understand the words, but I don’t necessarily participate or sympathize. I don’t know what this means. Does it mean I feel like I can relate to them less? If that’s the case, what the crap is going to happen when I am back in the states? Will I still be able to relate to people and their “problems?” Already I get almost angrily condescending when I read facebook posts about a new sale at Target, or frustration at Red Lobster for raising their prices. “Who cares? Are these seriously the biggest concerns in your life?” I think. Then again, most of MY updates are about the Paraguayan drought, and honestly, I know most facebook friends couldn’t care less.

I feel similar resentment/anger at the small number of volunteers who appear to be doing nothing with their time here, and don’t care about the fact that they are doing nothing. Plenty of volunteers feel unproductive. But the vast majority of them worry about this, try to do better and end up doing great work in their communities. But a few people, not many, but a few, seem like they are just here for a goldstar on their resume.

Art and Cotton.

A few weeks ago I hosted a very successful art camp with Maddy, another volunteer. It was a chance for kids in the community to exercise their creativity, something that doesn’t happen very often in a school system based on rout memorization and an artistic tradition of imitation (I tried to find a link that discussed the history of Guarani artists in the Jesuit Missions, but had no luck). I plan on having an art day once a month during the school year, which started up again in the last week of February. I had had several kids who promised they would come to the art camp not show up. I initially was frustrated, but latter discovered that they were unable to come because they had been picking cotton all day in the 100 degree heat. In fact, even though the school year has started, not many students are the schools currently due to the cotton harvest. In agricultural communities, kids are always going to be doing some sort of farm work. That’s not necessarily a bad thing. The problem arises when children’s educational opportunities are limited due to their need to work. Working on a family farm is one thing, working on the community’s patron’s field for money is another.

The moster masks from art camp.

My friend and fellow PCV Maddy reading to the kids at camp.

An Amusing Story About Long Green Vegetables.

Several months ago, I planted zucchini, cucumber, and luffa plants all around the same time. I then promptly forgot where I planted each vegetable. Eventually I had several vines climbing around my garden with large, heavy green fruit. I ate one, and it was a delicious, delicious cucumber. That particular vine died, but I thought nothing of it, seeing as how all the other vines were taking over my garden and I was clearly soon going to have cucumbers coming out of my ears. Shortly thereafter I picked another long, heavy green fruit. It tasted AWFUL. Clearly not a cucumber. Undeterred, I try another one, only this time sautéing it in butter and salt, that makes anything taste good, right? Wrong. It was still AWFUL. Clearly not a zucchini. Frustrated and confused, I asked a Paraguayan friend who came to visit me, why my cucumbers and zucchini were so nasty. He looked at me and said “those are esponja vegetal (luffa) plants… Your not supposed to eat them.” So this afternoon, after several months of waiting, I finally had my first shower using a sponge I grew myself! Guess what all my Peace Corps friends are going to be getting for their birthdays? After all, how many sponges can one person really use? After my shower I had a nice cool glass of lemonade squeezed from the lemons on the tree in my front yard. Que tranquillo. Despite the frustrations and worries I have with Peace Corps and myself, overall things are pretty great.

My first successful luffa harvest, pictured after the skin has been peeled away... clearly NOT a cucumber.