So What’s Going on Down There?

First off, let me reemphasize that any statements made here are my opinions and experiences alone and in no way reflect the position of the US Government, or of the Peace Corps.  I feel compelled to write this post in response to concerns by my friends and family about the situation in Paraguay.  I am going to do my best to simply explain the events and provide links to informative articles (some of which are on Wikipedia- not the most reliable, but handy for getting the gist of things), while avoiding any commentary on the politics involved.  Volunteers have been requested to avoid publicly giving opinions on the situation, and I want to abide by that request.

On Friday night, June 26^th, Paraguay experienced a rapid change in leadership (some are calling it a political coup).    Paraguay’s Senate voted to impeach President Lugo in a vote of 39 for and 4 against.  Amongst other things, they cited an event that had happened a few weeks earlier on June 15^th.  There was a clash (resulting in 17 deaths) between the police and landless farmers who were occupying land that had been given to the current owner under questionable legal circumstances by the dictator Alfredo Stroessner decades earlier.  Historically, Lugo’s presidency was significant in part because it was the first time that a “president from one party peacefully transferred power to another” ending over 60 years of rule by one party.

There is much controversy over the legality of the impeachment, in part due to the speed at which the whole thing took place.  Most people (including me while I was at a neighbors house trying out a new venenos caseros for her garden) heard about the plans for impeachment on Thursday morning.  By the time he was voted out on Friday night, he had had under 24 hours to prepare, and just two hours to mount a defense.  The vise president Federico Franco (who is of a different political party than Lugo), was sworn-in shortly thereafter.

So what does this mean?  Well, there are (mostly) peaceful protests centered in Asuncion, and more planed later this week all over the country.  Lugo is encouraging protesters to remain peaceful, but is not accepting the verdict. One concern that I have heard repeatedly is the well-founded worry that this might make Paraguay even more isolated (for a visual explanation of this see the map half way down this page).  Ambassadors have been called home from half a dozen South American governments.

I am safe.  Mostly, life is just going on as normal.  My neighbors still have their fields to hoe, and their cows to milk.  The only difference is that people are keeping their radios close and those few people with TVs are now very popular.  Like a telanovela, each development is discussed extensively over terere or if it’s a cold day, over mate.  Peace Corps Volunteers, of course, refrain from giving opinions on the situation so as to not strain relationships with host country nationals.

There are other things I wanted to talk about, but this post is heavy enough.  Future topics might include the challenge of being far away when there are deaths in the family (I have lost two grandparents in the past 4 moths), the fabulous craziness that is the festivalof San Juan (I am unfamiliar with the women’s games that are listed, but I definitely saw lots of fire soccer balls, burning effigies, and greased climbing poles at the party I went to), more angst on being lgbt and closeted, the possibility of maybe extending my time in Paraguay by a year, and the fact that my hens are FINALLY laying eggs.  So stay tuned!
**UPDATE: NPR did a story on Paraguay.  Here is the link.

Shock: Culture, Food, and the Potential International Appeal of Tereré

In Ann Arbor, on an industrially awesome swing.

After being out of the US for 20 months, I went on a two-week vacation to the States, spending a week in Bloomington, IN and a week in Ann Arbor, MI.  I head back to lovely Paraguay in a few days.

A few things about current American culture that I have learned about during my vacation:

• Instigram
• Siri
• Indiana's political mess, locally and statewide
• Occupy as explained to me by participants (not just news sites)
• Groupon (still unclear on this one)
• Dubstep
• Flexing
• The sad state of Wisconsin

Also, I forgot what its like to be surrounded by people who are JUST like me (family). For example, when we went out to eat at restaurants, we all ended up ordering the same dish… this happened three times, in three different restaurants.

In Bloomington, on my way to Contra Dance.

Aside from getting confused about where to put leftovers and empty containers, I have also been surprised by how much time people spend indoors.  In the US, our houses are much more enclosed than houses in Paraguay.  This is absolutely necessary due to the differences in climate and occupations (most people don’t have a bunch of farm animals to attend to).  But the stark divided between Indoors and Outdoors was something that I had not been cognitive of before living outside of the US.

One of the greater challenges I faced during my vacation was my inability to tune out other peoples conversations.  In Paraguay, because I actively have to work to understand Spanish or Guarani, it is easy to tune out other peoples conversations when on the bus or in a store.  But in the US, I can’t just opt-out of overhearing and comprehending a conversation I have no interest in.  I don’t WANT to know about some stranger's awkward faux pas with a coworker, but I have no choice in the matter.  It makes my brain a much nosier place.

The last cultural shock thing I’ll mention is about the difference in scale.  Walking around Lowe's, Target and Kroger's completely blew my mind. They are just so BIG and full of stuff.  It was really overwhelming and not in a good way.  Walking around a Supper 6 in Asuncion after being in site for a month can sometimes be trying, but it doesn't feel as needlessly massive as these other stores.

Flank steak with my Dad's homemade hot sause, local green beans with spicy mustered sause, and local new potatoes. Yum. 

OH, one more thing: FOOD.  Dang I love food in the USA.  I have been eating well and often in the US!  I had delicious home cooked meals made by my Dad.  He basically cooked all the foods that I have been really missing (mushrooms, flank steak, mixed greens, potatoes, etc.), and my friends Emily and Micah have been taking me to some of the incredible restaurants that Ann Arbor has to offer…. including South Indian food! Yum!  However in between my various delicious flavorful meals, I have been drinking plenty of tereré.  To my delight my family and Micah and Emily have been joining in as well… just in time for summer in the States.

In a few days I head back to Paraguay where winter has apparently arrived with a vengeance.  Guess Ill be switching from tereré to mate ….

Bigots Deserve Access to Development Workers Too

Ña Annastasia showing the abonos verde carnavalia intercropped with mandioca (This photo is completely unrelated to this blog post... but I like it anyways).

I looked at my facebook page recently, and I realized just how… well, gay it had become.  Well over half the links I post are about equal rights, and lgbt news stories.  It didn’t used to be that way.  In the States, due to my open-minded community, loving family and accepting college town, being queer was not something I thought about that much.  It simply wasn’t a big deal. I rarely considered if and how being queer influenced my interactions with people, my safety, or my future.  Liking women (and men) was part of who I was, but it wasn’t a big part. Occasionally I might sign a petition or speak up in a conversation if it seemed necessary, but all-in-all I was very casual in my lgbt identity. Because it was rarely something I felt ostracized for, it was never something about which I sought support.  But as a Peace Corps volunteer, I have to be closeted in site in order to productively do the development work I came here to do.  So now, perhaps due to being closeted, if I’m lucky enough to have an internet signal, I find myself trolling Huffington Post Gay news section for hopeful or shocking news stories.  I have started to closely follow equal rights issues in the states (ex: repeal of DADT, North Carolina amendment banning same-sex marriage, President Obama public support for marriage equality). I have become more interested in the advancement of equal rights and acceptance because I now feel the lack of them.  Ironically, having to hide my sexuality has made my sexuality more central to my identity.

One of the absolute most important reasons to be out, is that people begin to revise their bigoted opinions, when they realize they actually personally know someone who is gay.  When it comes to votes, and rights, they realize that their actions will directly affect someone one they know as a person, not just as a sexuality.  One of the questions I struggled with for a while, was why doesn’t this apply in Paraguay?  Shouldn’t I open here for the same reason I’m open in Indiana?

I realized that it doesn’t apply because as an agriculture volunteer, I am here to work with everyone who has degraded soil on their farm.  Bigots deserve access to development workers too.  There are already so many barriers to over come to get someone to try something new on their farm, why add something else?  I’m not Catholic, but I don’t advertise that to the community for the same reason.  In order to work with as many people as I can, I want to present as few barriers as possible.  If I were to come out at the end of my service, or several years from now when I come back for a visit, the community will know me as a person.  They will know the work I did.  They will have to reconcile, the person they know with the sexuality they object to.

By not being out, I am able to reach more people and be more effective.  But it means I am not able to be a resource for the lgbt youth and adults that live in the community.  No one is out, but I have my suspicions about a few folks.  I can’t be a role model for them, because they don’t know what we have in common.  I can’t come out to them, because it could compromise my position in the community (one well-worn strategy for deflecting suspicion off your self is to become an out-spoken homophobic ass (ex: Ted Haggard, George Rekers, etc).  This is the hardest part about not being out in site.

There is gay rights movement in Paraguay.  Things are changing especially amongst the youth and in the larger towns and cities.  But out here in the campo, there is still a long way to go. Poco a poco, I guess.

I am about to head back to the States for a much needed vacation.  I had heard it said that things pick up in the second year, and that is definitely what has happened for me.  I am involved in things at site.  There are things I wish I spent less time doing (English classes), and things I wish I spent more time doing (abonos verdes, gardens).  But I’m just glad to feel kind of busy for once.  Every so often there are mile stones, that I don’t always write about.  For example, an old host brother of mine, shyly ask me for information on STI and condoms.  I was delighted that he trusted me enough to ask for the information, and did my best to bombard him with the information I had (especially sense health isn’t my sector).  Its been 20 months since I came to Paraguay and I have undergone many changes here.  I know my two week vacation is not enough time to really find out, but wonder how those changes will effect my interaction with American culture.

See you soon America.

(Sorry, this is not my best written or focused blog post.  I promise I’m full of ligament excuses.  But I figured I should post it now, and take advantage of the good internet while I could).

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.

Everything is Falling Into Place

This is an I’m-so-freaking-happy-in-my-community blog entry.

I have been having these days recently, where I just feel pleased and hopeful about my role here (its not perfect, see end of post). It’s great to feel that way, and so I thought I should write a little blog post about it. After a year and 2 month in site, here is what’s going on.

Language

My language has gotten to the point where I can really talk to people, and joke, and be fairly honest about my thoughts and feelings on topics. Not only has my Spanish improved dramatically (still hopeless at Guaraní, but that deserves a whole other, not nearly as uplifting, blog post), but the families I work with the most, know the idiosyncrasies of my language patterns, and therefor usually understand me when I’m butchering my way through an explanation. I have also attuned well enough to what is culturally appropriate to talk about, and what conversations I might need to steer clear of. Although, perhaps I am overly cautious when it comes to topics of sexuality.

Integration

I have been here long enough that I am not longer real exciting. I still have my strange extranjera ways, but people have gotten used to them by now. People still see and comment on everything I do, everywhere I go, and everything I buy or throwaway, but to a certain extent they do that to their neighbors too. Plus, now I also stare back at people. Finally, I have gotten to the point in my integration and language ability, that when I feel lonely or sad I don’t have to hid in my house (although sometimes I do), I can go find a neighbor I feel close to and talk and relax for awhile. It doesn’t feel like work, it feels like friendship.

Work

While I’m still not doing as much “work” in my community as I would like to be doing, several things are beginning to gain momentum. Most people are interested in my advice on small things. Most of the work I manage to do is one-on-one, rather than large charlas (meeting/lecture). My summer English class is going well, mainly because the only students who bother to show up are the ones who REALLY want to learn. I built two more fogons (fuel efficient cook stoves) recently. I had helped build seven of them back in August with some high schoolers who came to my community for a month via the organization Amigos de las Americas.

But this time around it was just a Peace Corps project. I built one this past month with the family it was intended for, and my friend Nate (fellow volunteer and fogone building extraordinaire). The second fogone, just me and the family built.

I was worried about how this would go, but it ended up being a wonderful time. One of the girls in the family used to be my host sister so we are already pretty close. At first she watched and helped out in peripheral ways, like serving terere, and refilling the mescala (red dirt and cement) buckets. Next she started handing me bricks, and by the time we got to the chimney, she started laying the bricks down herself. She had seen her brother, father and I laying bricks the day before, and finally she wanted to try and do it herself. Bricklaying is definitely outside of normal gender roles for girls, so this felt like a victory of sorts. There needs to be more options for work if girl in the campo doesn’t want to exclusively do domestic labor all day. She was good at the job too. I, and other volunteers, are constantly doing things outside of our expected gender roles (males-cooking their own meals, cleaning their own clothes, females-bricklaying). It was interesting see the influences of those actions first hand.

It’s not always sunny in Punta Suerte (actually with the drought its always freaking sunny, damn it).

Clearly I am happy in site. When people ask me (and the do… all the time) “Are you happy in Paraguay?” I can honestly answer yes. But sometimes its hard to be here. Sometimes I feel cut off from life in the states. Life and friends and family are passing me by while I’m stuck in Paraguay talking about how hot it is for the hundredth time this week. I’m tired of constantly having minor health problems that leave me feeling run down. I am tired of the planning involved in timing my trips to Santani well enough to insure that I have enough food (especially now that its summer and so my garden is almost completely dead. Its possible to do summer gardens but the drought has made it very difficult). I’m tired of the heat… my god, the heat. In addition to the drought, San Pedro has also had an outbreak of food-and-mouth disease... a double whammy of sorts. I’m sick of the damn frogs taking over my house and pooping everywhere (I trapped about 20 in a bag, but couldn’t bring myself commit frog genocide as suggested by my neighbor, so I walked down the road and released them). I miss the ease, convenience and comfort of life in the States.

But I’m so glad I’m here. There is nothing else I would rather be doing with my life right now. I only hope I’m able to give to my community a fraction of what its given me.