tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-47146250408087721322024-02-18T23:00:39.272-07:00JClay in Paraguaytales from the fields of ParaguayJesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16330489032376443212noreply@blogger.comBlogger43125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4714625040808772132.post-53360527319916133902012-02-14T13:01:00.002-07:002012-02-14T13:03:50.085-07:00The perfect goodbyeAs I sit in the airport and begin to worry about losing the things that I have so loved about this country, it surprises me once again.<br /><br />The man playing traditional harp in a full suit noticed a backpacker passing with a banjo on his backpack. He stopped mid-song and tried to ask him about it. In broken spanish/portuguese/english, the two switched instruments and tried to play a song together. The guard in aviator sunglasses watched, and the woman selling chipa gave them both a free piece for their efforts. <br /><br />Amazing.Jesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16330489032376443212noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4714625040808772132.post-17051432201081921942012-02-14T12:30:00.001-07:002012-02-14T12:30:26.453-07:00Heading OutTwenty-four hours from now I will be home. My Peace Corps service will be over; 2.5 years complete, and Paraguay will begin shifting from reality to memory.<br /><br /> Its not the way I wanted to end my service. With and unsolved stomach mystery, a useless month of medical exams, and many weeks of uncertainty. But while not ideal, the time was right. With weeks of uncertainty and waiting, I had time to think, to process, and to prepare for the end of what has truly been an incredible Peace Corps Service.<br /><br /> When I applied to Peace Corps, I sincerely hoped for any country but Paraguay. Yet ironically, that is exactly where I ended up. Two days after I swore in as a G-31 beekeeping volunteer for Paraguay, I developed a severe bee allergy, had to switch sectors without additional training, and began waiting for a site all over again. But despite the ironies and hard times, on January 8th, 2010, I moved to Caroveni Nuevo/Cocuere Guazu. Though it wasn't what I thought I wanted, there I ended up was exactly where I needed to be for the past 2.5 years.<br /><br /> I wish this was a post about the Peace Corps, but while I met many amazing people in the Peace Corps, had some wonderful bosses and mentors, and learned a lot in their trainings, the Peace Corps did not define my time here. Instead, it was Paraguay. The cultural quirks, the incredible landscape, and most of all the people of Paraguay turned a foreign land into a comfortable home for the last 2.5 years. <br /><br /> Summing up this experience would be impossible. I know in four short days I will resort to a simple, "It was incredible" when questioned about my service. But inside I will smile, and remember the amazing-ness that is Paraguay. The countryside, the people who are willing to share anything/everything, the calmness and constant lack of rush, the willingness to try new things, the many gloriously plain afternoons spent reading in a hammock under a grove of mango trees, and finally, my fellow volunteers, who I know will mirror my smirks at the same memories. <br /><br /> As I left my site for the last time a few days ago, I was surprised when the bus stopped in front of my friend's house. Soon she marched on, told the driver to wait, and without talking to anyone else, walked straight to the back of the bus, handed me a platic bag wrapped around an undetermined amount of money and said, "this is for your chipa, my daughter. I love you and will miss you. Good luck." She kissed my cheeks, thanked the driver and told him he could go again. <br /><br /> I came to Paraguay with two families (my own, and my college family), and I leave with another 4 or so. The goodbye’s have been hard, with random swings of sadness, excitement, fear, and more, but I breathe a little easier when I realize that inside, I know I’ll be back. When? How? Who knows? But I’ll be back Paraguay. It’s the end of Peace Corps, but its not the end. Jajotopata.Jesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16330489032376443212noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4714625040808772132.post-79603722627568724132011-12-19T12:10:00.002-07:002011-12-19T13:37:37.524-07:00A foto catch-up<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJZlG8FICl1irIJxEoPICcck7lWE1y9Uo1HMxbG3aUa_l3_5NSo5pFeTD4senb0vdV2N1nMLKm87uva-5aUsfYM-hRD18GE9M5AE5IrIM26rdixYIsWn-1GA2UOK1l5FZyAAjqzv-4FP8/s1600/P1060667.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJZlG8FICl1irIJxEoPICcck7lWE1y9Uo1HMxbG3aUa_l3_5NSo5pFeTD4senb0vdV2N1nMLKm87uva-5aUsfYM-hRD18GE9M5AE5IrIM26rdixYIsWn-1GA2UOK1l5FZyAAjqzv-4FP8/s320/P1060667.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5687925195523046674" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirABcJMzrEp4RDgzPLHz2gLW4RsSrwuBLVwkkOCZPwJzcz4MsDROS4DeNUltblT6sSIAt76azSERXbdx7HYiIPoRET8MrxXBOfIXRACPknAd4k-yn32O7WIB1cuNQkbFZgovTXs4xj2Yo/s1600/IMG_2187.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirABcJMzrEp4RDgzPLHz2gLW4RsSrwuBLVwkkOCZPwJzcz4MsDROS4DeNUltblT6sSIAt76azSERXbdx7HYiIPoRET8MrxXBOfIXRACPknAd4k-yn32O7WIB1cuNQkbFZgovTXs4xj2Yo/s320/IMG_2187.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5687925175685429954" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyKdAHdt1AZFt3bcm9u9ftvtz6s1RS51DULRMrVrUisqSNNBTLROhT-JJrPMss6QtUhAAAzR6f7IwDCsN_Cj_SrrenixHmMJwRIz3lqqBHlKmCmKGA2AkWz7JO16buqyeQrMvBFL0p8OM/s1600/P1060564.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyKdAHdt1AZFt3bcm9u9ftvtz6s1RS51DULRMrVrUisqSNNBTLROhT-JJrPMss6QtUhAAAzR6f7IwDCsN_Cj_SrrenixHmMJwRIz3lqqBHlKmCmKGA2AkWz7JO16buqyeQrMvBFL0p8OM/s320/P1060564.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5687925159880104338" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfSsaYeJ4b0LvazLW5615zcnQkZlEifu9fEmB1wHRYrYtvCK_w3GOUBIm-iqgTWKT8ADU3nv2BP_zZbHxMAQo5FuZVHA41E4jUiCCSrG7VHdF_dXb8w-b2RmItFcTtSWLjAw16BbxPKrg/s1600/P1060554.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfSsaYeJ4b0LvazLW5615zcnQkZlEifu9fEmB1wHRYrYtvCK_w3GOUBIm-iqgTWKT8ADU3nv2BP_zZbHxMAQo5FuZVHA41E4jUiCCSrG7VHdF_dXb8w-b2RmItFcTtSWLjAw16BbxPKrg/s320/P1060554.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5687925151020375970" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikwrkq25tGKJW43Fq8Cl8ADph4W0la9NHmC5CJMX5tS3Mrym7UoTNMluinx2LnlOIdv3Gui8ClUYjUTdwtJCwJbgHd7NYhdmjnVEHzAvAoyPVOiqPFZxDduuONhiFsEFQqR9wTkB6SEvc/s1600/P1060531.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikwrkq25tGKJW43Fq8Cl8ADph4W0la9NHmC5CJMX5tS3Mrym7UoTNMluinx2LnlOIdv3Gui8ClUYjUTdwtJCwJbgHd7NYhdmjnVEHzAvAoyPVOiqPFZxDduuONhiFsEFQqR9wTkB6SEvc/s320/P1060531.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5687925140178464498" /></a>Jesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16330489032376443212noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4714625040808772132.post-55529742022994086632011-08-20T07:50:00.001-06:002011-08-20T08:00:09.363-06:00Almost there,,Wow! From 27 months of service down to 4! Everyone said that the second year went faster… they were not lying. I think it’s the comfort element. I am comfortable here (barring the occasional tarantula invasion), and the Paraguayans in my community are comfortable with me. The result is a sort of normalcy that makes days pass quickly, and a new appreciation for the oddities that have woven themselves into my life over the past almost-2 years.
<br />
<br />I was drinking terere at my neighbors house the other day, and it was business as usual. Then suddenly, the neighbor said, “let’s do it,” and stood up and walked toward the trunk of his truck. Before I knew it all the men were involved in lifting a baby bull from the trunk back and slapping it to see if it would stand. Then of course, since I was the tecnica, I was asked to inspect the bull and tell them if I thought it would live. Since it was only skinny, and seemed to have energy, good skin, and healthy feces, I said that with the right vitamins and plenty to eat it should be fine. Then we watched it take a nap as we finished our terere.
<br />
<br />It wasn’t until later that night that I even thought about the ridiculousness of the situation. First off why did nobody mention the calf to me until they were dragging it out of the back of the truck? And second, why was I suddenly the local vet? I have never demonstrated any capacity or knowledge about animal health, yet everyone, myself included, played along with my new role just fine.
<br />
<br />Along with comfort has come a new demand of my skills. As I cuddled into my blanket ready for a relaxing afternoon of reading this week, my friend pulled up on her motorcycle and said “come to my house in 15 minutes, I need to learn how to make a cake for this afternoon. Oh, and bring your cake pans, I don’t have any. See you soon!” So I trudged down the street and spent the afternoon making a cake for (by together she meant that she would watch) my friend’s daughter. Suddenly I realized I barely had enough time to make it home before the sun disappeared.
<br />
<br />I’ve finally adjusted. I am no longer shocked by Paraguay. Paraguayans are no longer shocked when I don’t want to eat cow stomach. My community and I have found our equilibrium.
<br />
<br />And so, I stopped writing my blog. But I have stories I have been collecting, and before I forget I will start posting them again. Because while the shock value has faded, the incredible nature of my life has not, and its all because of this country, Paraguay. The “guay” that nobody really knows anything about. But it’s a country with a traditional culture full of fun quirks, a pretty good soccer team, and almost oddly unwavering pride.
<br />
<br />So as my work in site begins to come to a close, I’ll turn to goal 3 of the Peace Corps: Sharing Paraguayan culture with the states. I’ll begin with some photos:
<br />
<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhp_tnJ0REP9jF4oztGgLrsN5rd3Gl1ZKQ0RlezKQl_vl_0OGy9s-XulhY37Xw8QQzJ65zI07lTQM0pTapVDKX4uYsFAuL0OM89EetdV_j1vU95AnAarCa2GKsVzcffvAOKymtvc4D1TDU/s1600/P1060215.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhp_tnJ0REP9jF4oztGgLrsN5rd3Gl1ZKQ0RlezKQl_vl_0OGy9s-XulhY37Xw8QQzJ65zI07lTQM0pTapVDKX4uYsFAuL0OM89EetdV_j1vU95AnAarCa2GKsVzcffvAOKymtvc4D1TDU/s320/P1060215.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5642937431924033650" /></a>
<br />
<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNT-dD4potfyp5U-9755yPvZHPriXqk6wOiyuGxL501632oPH24XVrPS5YwlSFJ_xBB5zBmSQiG9P4iI3hL8okWQMe0-nutPrQcRmYB2tZHOHuN9Ic2GPLL1DaxT3JqJ5Hm6trPYt54Uw/s1600/P1060108.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNT-dD4potfyp5U-9755yPvZHPriXqk6wOiyuGxL501632oPH24XVrPS5YwlSFJ_xBB5zBmSQiG9P4iI3hL8okWQMe0-nutPrQcRmYB2tZHOHuN9Ic2GPLL1DaxT3JqJ5Hm6trPYt54Uw/s320/P1060108.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5642937422466954706" /></a>
<br />
<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvoSfC6kV74Tu0ew7dfhnDghCinbrmo_wDmID36tQPKwcb1tWpQ38bRGibOb7ZIEHML-ijtuVXQDAVZDeqdSD2g0E-tWyfsyrWSs2AbOUFv9D_cj9l04TsrNrDi9IwemJwGEmgvCODfTE/s1600/P1060076.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvoSfC6kV74Tu0ew7dfhnDghCinbrmo_wDmID36tQPKwcb1tWpQ38bRGibOb7ZIEHML-ijtuVXQDAVZDeqdSD2g0E-tWyfsyrWSs2AbOUFv9D_cj9l04TsrNrDi9IwemJwGEmgvCODfTE/s320/P1060076.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5642937420309802514" /></a>
<br />
<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKrRUaCsBS-qyhKCkXsRxp9L-bWEw_NHMsCZsXINi5T4HZiSRt1jFOpCjYQ4UgaJcSvtw73T3kif2akVEewJ2IoB0Ru4KCQF4MbPzZOaPiJ5FTTzKQh9WN-bmre-qJAMDvqPaPepAiXfo/s1600/P1060071.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKrRUaCsBS-qyhKCkXsRxp9L-bWEw_NHMsCZsXINi5T4HZiSRt1jFOpCjYQ4UgaJcSvtw73T3kif2akVEewJ2IoB0Ru4KCQF4MbPzZOaPiJ5FTTzKQh9WN-bmre-qJAMDvqPaPepAiXfo/s320/P1060071.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5642937415649498866" /></a>
<br />
<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX4w1Xs5-H_HoW9OMiFN1dRuTqQFKt0a6cpJCqZX065UfBf1uRKUQlyr5_e_T4vbhEV10fykDPC9A6D_3EfR2uKHB0mNGoatRcmTUOe_0g37uqk8-oT4eQINQpgKw7PhtoxiieSA_JHBk/s1600/P1060377.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX4w1Xs5-H_HoW9OMiFN1dRuTqQFKt0a6cpJCqZX065UfBf1uRKUQlyr5_e_T4vbhEV10fykDPC9A6D_3EfR2uKHB0mNGoatRcmTUOe_0g37uqk8-oT4eQINQpgKw7PhtoxiieSA_JHBk/s320/P1060377.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5642937438119335906" /></a>
<br />Jesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16330489032376443212noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4714625040808772132.post-78949247408163093102011-01-07T05:57:00.003-07:002011-01-07T06:30:09.455-07:00Fantastically NormalWhen living in the country-side of Paraguay, my life becomes the countryside of Paraguay. <br /><br />When I have nothing to do, I can now sit for hours and simply appreciate life. When I look for excitement, I cross the street anxiously to my neighbors house to hold her baby and gossip about how rude the senora down the road acts in committee meetings, and watch the road for new traffic. When I look for natural beauty, I sit on the porch as the sun sets below the palms. When I thought about New Years resolutions for 2011, they all involved my site; from getting to know new family’s, making my garden more environmentally friendly, and finally trying some sort of tongue. For all intents and purposes. My life in this town. <br /><br />And oftentimes last year this fact began to bother me. I did not want to be that small-minded, that small-town, or that potentially ignorant to the parts of the world that existed far away from our daily happening. Which is why when Christmas vacation time came around, I was anxious to re-discover the world, or at least parts of Argentina.<br /><br />And discovering I did. First San Carlos de Bariloche, where nature’s wonders continually surpassed my minds predisposed notions of beauty and shocked my system’s ability to handle extreme fluctuations of temperatures. Days were spent frolicking along snow-capped peaks lining a lake whose sheer size and fairly consistent whit-capped waves were reminiscent of the ocean.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwXd3AG4TXAEVmbb3FXluJxjR7rY2AROcnZyUHHUsGo1wCZg3SlMfzSl2YNvXjHNLHqZXrEJlDr0V0Y0jEX-9-ezIF1Nx_1x2c1Y_Lb-bW1XMVx2yMpOGYp2iy_8HUdHo0CgiotLA480w/s1600/IMG_1903.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwXd3AG4TXAEVmbb3FXluJxjR7rY2AROcnZyUHHUsGo1wCZg3SlMfzSl2YNvXjHNLHqZXrEJlDr0V0Y0jEX-9-ezIF1Nx_1x2c1Y_Lb-bW1XMVx2yMpOGYp2iy_8HUdHo0CgiotLA480w/s320/IMG_1903.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5559433086339886866" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwzZpzZW_kt5xcoyKAAzP49hHHEw7f0XnW9lduRQezp74dnMfVqVmjzvaQYrlnbm1gwuok7rPChyphenhyphensBaigYcjlpJN5GqdAPOxY5gdNTTUzhY77x2unAS8sEQTMJFwZ9NMnKSeKKKRk0NwI/s1600/IMG_1845.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwzZpzZW_kt5xcoyKAAzP49hHHEw7f0XnW9lduRQezp74dnMfVqVmjzvaQYrlnbm1gwuok7rPChyphenhyphensBaigYcjlpJN5GqdAPOxY5gdNTTUzhY77x2unAS8sEQTMJFwZ9NMnKSeKKKRk0NwI/s320/IMG_1845.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5559433081245433954" /></a><br /><br />After a delightful (and meat filled) parrilla dinner on Christmas eve, it was off to Mendoza, where dirt roads were actually maintained, mountains were even higher, wine flowed freely, sushi actually existed and was delicious, and even rainy days could not keep city life from happening.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6513HCusr938RcsfMWHuN2XdQVE1jxlHhzU3SSeGBpCDtCtUZv9W6QOE53CHojP1J0rTD66KBjOF2PS9LhhuHFtBUJdZfwKGHlQ6X_FBx1oBhQlyf7H6hjCLXZqZF3F8A5xP2yqg89e8/s1600/IMG_2048.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6513HCusr938RcsfMWHuN2XdQVE1jxlHhzU3SSeGBpCDtCtUZv9W6QOE53CHojP1J0rTD66KBjOF2PS9LhhuHFtBUJdZfwKGHlQ6X_FBx1oBhQlyf7H6hjCLXZqZF3F8A5xP2yqg89e8/s320/IMG_2048.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5559433090940052450" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv5KU_pWjpvZ97UaRFrqCUzMNkuhORXMII5EHqaBKK-8cezWLVrXIlZTnwv7YydJPaTli05T4mGPrt3PvjfrjqPkHSmdeiQMTIgpI7qWSBqtmjN0IMImlQLkwVYCGCwWFwyKfXHI0xe2U/s1600/IMG_2118.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv5KU_pWjpvZ97UaRFrqCUzMNkuhORXMII5EHqaBKK-8cezWLVrXIlZTnwv7YydJPaTli05T4mGPrt3PvjfrjqPkHSmdeiQMTIgpI7qWSBqtmjN0IMImlQLkwVYCGCwWFwyKfXHI0xe2U/s320/IMG_2118.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5559433096045876002" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWVPSSxI3UbOEv_PDtXrc4M6RlFcWJ6adWfgeo53w9LaRR6rlfZ0Uq5oYNfdQHwkC7gJvaR9czHaqioB5v-GlTB0QWhU-KQgwukOs2Pge_IYg7iHbOE7-80mlZ7xCZcDOjMrtosnEgtAA/s1600/IMG_2112.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWVPSSxI3UbOEv_PDtXrc4M6RlFcWJ6adWfgeo53w9LaRR6rlfZ0Uq5oYNfdQHwkC7gJvaR9czHaqioB5v-GlTB0QWhU-KQgwukOs2Pge_IYg7iHbOE7-80mlZ7xCZcDOjMrtosnEgtAA/s320/IMG_2112.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5559433091567756738" /></a><br /><br />It was a good vacation. Full of new experiences and so visually stimulating that I find my photos, although beautiful, disappointing in comparison. When I left for vacation I planned on a re-adjustment period in Asuncion, and worried it would not be enough time to be ready for site. And yet, despite myself, after so much discovery, fun, excitement, newness… etc, upon arrival at the hotel in Asuncion, I was antsy to get home.<br /><br />Finally, I made it back. And the first thing I did was cross the street to hold my neighbor’s baby, hear about the gossip I missed, and watch the sun cross below the palms with her. Instead of feeling small-minded or trapped this time, I felt happy. This is what we do in the Paraguayan countryside. This is the life I chose, or rather, the life that chose me, and which I accepted. <br /><br />Vacation was amazing, wonderful, an experience that widened my perspective and inspired my future, but I think so did my hours of starting into the fields, chatting about the weather or neighbor’s bad behaviors, and sitting through black-outs in the countryside of Paraguay for the last year. So for 2011, I am going to embrace the amazing-ness that somehow develops despite a lack of incredible natural beauty, fairly temperate weather, unexciting social lives, and too much free time. Even though full of the traditionally unappreciated, the small-town life of my Paraguayan community provides me a plethora of wonders and surprises. I will be sure to keep you all posted about the un-incredible, yet amazingly intriguing, inspiring, and exciting happenings of life in the campo! <br /><br />Its good to be home!Jesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16330489032376443212noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4714625040808772132.post-84981912261698687502010-12-08T05:11:00.002-07:002010-12-08T05:42:36.195-07:00The Chicken ProjectMy relationship with chickens in this country would be best defined as Love-Hate. I do love eating the home-grown chicken soup, and the beautiful orange-yolk eggs they sometimes lay in my compost pile. But I also do so hate those chickens that have figured out how to fly, and manage to clear my 3-foot tall garden fence and munch on all my red tomatoes, cabbages, and baby pepper plants before I realize what’s going on, as well as their sticky droppings they love to leave on my front porch.<br /><br />And then, a few months ago, chickens became much more. <br /><br />Almost every family in my community already has chickens. They are all over. They eat everything they can find, wander to far-off places, and when they decide to lay eggs, they do so wherever they see fit before climbing high into a mango tree to sleep for the night. But in July the agricultural committee randomly received 10 well-bred chicken babies sponsored by the mayor. I’m still unsure when the inspiration hit. It may have been the moment I saw those boxes of fluffy chicks being passed out to the agriculture committee. Or maybe when people started talking about how the chicks were dying. But I think it finally hit when one lady, chicken-less after only 4 weeks, recognized out-loud that she had no idea how to raise those chickens or why they died.<br /><br />The committee had been hankering for a project, and after these chicken stories I couldn’t escape the opportunity glaring me in my face. I would teach my women how to care for their chickens. But they needed a reason. Other talks with them had established that beyond the winter-garden season where they could sell vegetables, they often lacked a steady income. Recent trips to the local store demonstrated that the local economy also lacked eggs. And so, it was born: the chicken project.<br /><br />After watching to many easy projects fail in arriving, in their implementation, or in sustainability, I worked with all my resources to protect my project from a sad and unfortunate fate. Rules were born:<br />1) To be involved in the project, each woman had to be a long-standing and participatory member of the women’s committee.<br />2) Each person must attend a series of 4 talks about chickens in order to receive the project.<br />3) Each woman must contribute an equal percentage of crops from their fields towards the production of home-made chicken feed.<br />4) Each woman must work equally to raise the money for the community contribution.<br />5) Each woman must plant at least 5 lines of pigeon peas, a green manure, in their fields to go towards future chicken feed.<br />6) Each woman must have their chicken house built within a month of the materials arriving.<br />7) Each woman must keep at all times at least 6 chickens in her chicken coop.<br /><br />At first things were hard. Despite constant reminders, good friends in the community tested my rules by skipping the first talk. When I had to kick them out of the project committee, I worried that everything would go downhill. I lost faith.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRx3fX0S-bOcMB4ZYY8XfnAgN1FA5zd3JFMfJUvzquRGfH7xXSyF90-5OE9WWAwBuB9hLRT3HRMZc9tipvjHV2VfIdxGkvLG-oSLMBb3TdbmvZqx5GC-FkpAgGCC6LpsLf9TFfszxLtZ0/s1600/IMG_1750.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRx3fX0S-bOcMB4ZYY8XfnAgN1FA5zd3JFMfJUvzquRGfH7xXSyF90-5OE9WWAwBuB9hLRT3HRMZc9tipvjHV2VfIdxGkvLG-oSLMBb3TdbmvZqx5GC-FkpAgGCC6LpsLf9TFfszxLtZ0/s400/IMG_1750.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5548290448488069154" /></a><br /><br />Slowly, faith returned. The 24 women that came to the first talk, came to the last 3 as well. When chicken-feed ingredients were requested, they took their time to make feasible promises that equaled what we needed. Women have already shown up at my house with contributions towards the chicken feed that may be months away in the making. And at every house I visit, something clicks in the minds of the women about mid-way through the visit, and they jump up excitedly to go show me their pigeon pea seedlings and show me where their chicken house will be built.<br /><br />As of now we are waiting for the money. The application for a SPA grant through Peace Corps is in, thanks to great help from the president of the women’s committee, and hard days of cooking and selling chicken and empanadas has us only a few dollars away from our community contribution goal. And now we wait.<br /><br />And now, though the chickens that get into my garden still piss me off, I see in them an opportunity. The ‘chicken chatter’ around town is positive, women are even putting some of the practices learned in talks to use with the chickens they have. The room underneath my guest bed is almost full of corn, beans, and coco waiting to be ground for future feed. <br /><br />They did it. They followed the rules, and have astounded me with their progress. As I work to ensure that my part in the project pulls through as well, I notice that the women walk into meetings a little taller and laugh a little louder. Those garden destroying chickens have already begun to empower a capably group of people looking for a chance to prove themselves. And prove themselves they will continue to do, I tell them. Because though we may have to wait, when those chickens finally get here, are well fed and well kept, and start producing lots of eggs, I will be over at each of their houses to try one. <br /><br />First came the chickens, then the eye-opening empowerment of the women, and now comes my time to learn patience in the funding process. We finally got confirmation of funding! But red-tape keeps its from materializing too soon. The day will come though, I hope, when its all about the eggs, and six months after, a few plates of home-made chicken soup as we watch baby chicks chirp away the beginning of the cycle.Jesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16330489032376443212noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4714625040808772132.post-50874804384018071112010-11-21T17:11:00.000-07:002010-11-21T17:16:13.361-07:00Thanks for ComingSorry for the lack of blog posts recently.. internet in the countryside sometimes fails. Here is a little note I wrote to myself a while ago... I hope you enjoy! I'll do a photo update when I get to better internet!<br /><br />From the first day I arrived in Paraguay, Peace Corps mentioned the importance of visiting families to get to know them. In training it was simple: I visited the families that the other Peace Corps Trainees lived with, and then we all left together to play Frisbee. <br /><br />It was not until I got to site that I realized how complex the simple task or visiting families could become. My initial visits were easy, introductory, full of simple questions, temperature commentary, and the periodic meal or gift of fruit to welcome me to the community. It was pleasant.<br /><br />Once the first visits to all the families were over, disaster struck. Apparently you visit once, and you have to keep going, fairly frequently, meaning about once a week. If you fail, you will know you did, because they will hound you with “Where have you been?” “Why don’t you want to come back to my house?” “When are you going to visit me again?” “Why haven’t I seen you in a while?” To answer: “Because you never come to my house,” is inappropriate, and so an immediate promise of a visit to come and excuses of a heavy workload is the only way to excuse yourself.<br /><br />Then you realize that with some families you simply have nothing to say. Maybe it’s a personality difference. Maybe it’s a lack of patience allowing for the conversations to go anywhere. And these visits slowly die, because you leave feeling bored, and they stop asking why you never come around. <br /><br />But other families just click. You have fun with them. You can sit and talk about things other than the rain last week. You can make funny noises together. They order you right inside if you arrive past ten am to help them make lunch and expect you to stay for it. They also have a tendency to give you things. None of this is solicited and yet so far I have walked away from various family visits with, but not limited to: a pumpkin, bag of hot peppers, sweet potatoes, a cup of sugar cane juice, a bowl of mandioca, roasted pig skin, a bag of beans, a floor mat, a large hair clip decorated with 2 yellow poinsettias and brown feathers, and several delicious meals (normally already in my stomach).<br /><br />It’s awfully nice of them. I guess they are just so happy to have a visitor that they want to thank them for coming. I have seen them do the same with Paraguayans. I try to return the kindness when I can, baking and distributing cakes and breads periodically to the heavy gifters, or even the ones with the kindest or strangest offers (I have an outstanding offer to bring my towel and bathe whenever I want at one family’s house. Even when I told them I had a hot shower, they replied that they just wanted to let me know that if I wanted to bathe at their house ten minutes away from my own and then walk home on a dusty or muddy dirt road, I was welcome to). <br /><br />I have already decided that this is something I am going to miss about Paraguay. It really brightens your day. Not only do I accomplish something each day I go and talk with Paraguayans for 3 hours about their lives, mine, and mention some gardening tips amidst it all, but I also walk home with something like a large pumpkin to eat. <br /><br />Maybe I will continue this in the US. I think I should. I will have a bowl by the door of long-keeping vegetables and dollar-store treasures, and depending on my mood as I walk my guest to my front door they will get a yam, an onion, or a leopard print snap-bracelet.Jesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16330489032376443212noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4714625040808772132.post-62902150301689625672010-10-19T10:29:00.002-06:002010-10-19T10:50:35.448-06:00A Good DayI complain a lot on this blog. I acknowledge that. I admit that it is often easier to find the motivation to post when I am stressed, concerned, overwhelmed or upset than when I am content, happy, and even a little giddy with my life here. Today I attempt to change that. I know this story is cheesy, but its true.<br /><br />I had a trainee come visit this weekend. Last year this time I headed far north to visit a volunteer from the group before mine and see just what volunteer life is like. This weekend, it was my turn. <br /><br />It was fun waiting for the visitor. Thinking of what she might be like, remembering how little I knew about what my life would become later on in training or even once I swore in. And then she was here. And I told her how it is. There are hard days, and tiring days, and long days, and hot days, and generally good days, and vacation days, and work days... etc. But I forgot to leave out that one kind of day, the one I leave off my blog too. Lucky for her, she was here to witness one.<br /><br />After a lunch of ample vegetables and a nap, we headed to my neighbors house to plant macuna, a green manure, amidst her two month old corn crop. She planted along with us as I explained the nutritional and mineral benefits to the soil of plants such as macuna. It was a pleasant planting experience, and I was about to leave the experience calling it a good day, when she asked to show me her tomatoes. <br /><br />It was then, walking around the back of their house that I saw it, a recycled trashcan just like the ones I made at the school back in May. My first, pessimistic one-year volunteer reaction was to think "damn little kid, he stole the school trashcan!" My host saw me looking at it, and said, "My son is so smart, he really loves you, he came home the day you taught the school how to make these and made us save bottles until he could teach me how to make this one. We use it for all the trash in the house, to gather it together, and almost have enough bottles to make another. I love it. Isn't he smart?"<br /><br />My face lit up. "Now that has to be re-warding," said the trainee. And it was. For a brief moment I felt accomplished. While other kids wacked their friends on the heads with bottles the day I taught about recycled trashcans at the school, at least one took it to heart and even shared the knowledge. I had made an impact, my work meant something.<br /><br />Without being able to wipe the smile off my face I headed to see the tomato plants and made plans with the lady to help her build a natural shade structure before the upcoming scorching months before heading home. <br /><br />And that was when I took the time to tell the trainee, as I tell you all know, that every once in a while you get a day that reminds you why you are here. When, although you know you cannot save the world, you realize that you can help some of its peoples through your work. That there is a reason for you me to be here, and that my work, however it may seem at the time I do it, has and will make an impact on people's lives. Days where this realization materializes in front of you, well, although rare, those days are what makes everything else worth while.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9LIY9YbnAA2wy9v6CWvEalvBRP2SAzFgYMTTJ1nuOWv4ed3pSWOQDnEMWVSNF08ziNkIRZGyO_YjUJxKsZ-S3k78PZAjM_30Y11MYgC68aj3o6QHk3zGZBb9BOST11G-kucZxshP5_kA/s1600/P1040929.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9LIY9YbnAA2wy9v6CWvEalvBRP2SAzFgYMTTJ1nuOWv4ed3pSWOQDnEMWVSNF08ziNkIRZGyO_YjUJxKsZ-S3k78PZAjM_30Y11MYgC68aj3o6QHk3zGZBb9BOST11G-kucZxshP5_kA/s320/P1040929.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5529800386747993458" /></a><br />Rachel demonstrates how to use one of the recycled trashcans in the school yard.Jesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16330489032376443212noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4714625040808772132.post-65265312236247879142010-09-30T16:44:00.006-06:002010-10-14T15:33:31.224-06:00You live alone?Paraguayans are all about family. As far as I know, the family I live next to in my town is related to everybody else in town. I happen to know that a lot of the tias and tios are way beyond first generation, but the specifics get confusing. What I do know is that the fact that I live here alone blows the minds of close, distant, and fake Paraguayan relatives alike.<br /><br />Most assume that I ran away and I have two sad and very disappointed parents in the states. Others try to think better of me; since I have two brothers, they must be staying and taking care of my mother, and I am simply the youngest committing one last sin of absence before buckling into the family agenda. The truth of american culture has been verbally bestowed upon these thinkers of the worst, and yet they sway their hand in the air as if they just heard a fairy tail.<br /><br />And so, when the day came to announce my mother's soon arrival in my very community... the questions stayed exactly the same. Excitement however, grew, for them, and for me.<br /><br />Before the members of my community could sweetly embrace, question, and pity my mother for having a daughter who left her, I had some vacation time to attend to. After months of waiting, September arrived, and after a few days of medical testing and a hefty anti-biotic prescription, I left Paraguay for the open, beach-filled lands of Florianopolis, Brazil.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrkLVVHneIdhcwA3DeTmDBYylPUWxGq2t2RE5QUSibNscerDuuUl-NaOcNBGmorVG6gg_GzsqmUtAV8Uul7kwcjMBxhrJCvx7hsgfLTf2MBHOFWpo7UpI1p5EqreAFcTJB-KArgW-bERg/s1600/IMG_1706.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrkLVVHneIdhcwA3DeTmDBYylPUWxGq2t2RE5QUSibNscerDuuUl-NaOcNBGmorVG6gg_GzsqmUtAV8Uul7kwcjMBxhrJCvx7hsgfLTf2MBHOFWpo7UpI1p5EqreAFcTJB-KArgW-bERg/s320/IMG_1706.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5528016999705191106" /></a><br /><br />The signs in Asuncion advertising Brazil as one big beach with the occasional surfer and palm tree... was the perfect description for this island of sand, surf, fish, and fisherman. Although slightly cold the week was spent in a breezy mind-dance of amazement at how much water access and beans and rice can do for the soul.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh48XduzI1mNLEXoQdVybb36RZekRjO1rFrgxZgmtllUmFle_eLnfz4UQ7LrrBars4RYoL3MTmRKyOBmP1X-03cVeDUkmvbFrBtB1WrljA2CVTc2vWIqen9ZAFLVvPNyYVNVEM5vXrj41o/s1600/IMG_1767.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh48XduzI1mNLEXoQdVybb36RZekRjO1rFrgxZgmtllUmFle_eLnfz4UQ7LrrBars4RYoL3MTmRKyOBmP1X-03cVeDUkmvbFrBtB1WrljA2CVTc2vWIqen9ZAFLVvPNyYVNVEM5vXrj41o/s320/IMG_1767.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5528017030962861170" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br />Tromping back into Paraguay for a night brought back my reality bluntly. Skirting my last flight due to scheduling errors, I was grabbed and yelled at to get back on my plane. Thankfully my Spanish is swift in times of need, and the women yelling at me likely had no case, so the following day My mother and I crossed the border again, into Argentina for the famous falls.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdmDZcI9Nl0LiZpxJaDCUDoAjRbWfWSEP4dsib6-g26KsnbTenwSGmkJDajNMNCgqcOmxVCCvQO7ZYZVcSUmvwuFYG_JYRXSF60kJz3IwBKnPnbILny3qX0FGBwuHZyvAm1_s3Mi1MTZE/s1600/P1050305.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdmDZcI9Nl0LiZpxJaDCUDoAjRbWfWSEP4dsib6-g26KsnbTenwSGmkJDajNMNCgqcOmxVCCvQO7ZYZVcSUmvwuFYG_JYRXSF60kJz3IwBKnPnbILny3qX0FGBwuHZyvAm1_s3Mi1MTZE/s320/P1050305.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5528017021644152434" /></a><br /><br />Days of steaks, wines, and a third trip to the falls ended with the final ride to my site. It was time.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1OaKgJ9bDecaySIKG8_3Anlp6WrhUN-O1upiYBDjVLCR74WvhpOuyWl93_axo08pUiVICTBqWxL0hNi-9ThqPBwtkQIE1bvCNVSOzW9TTbz1fwQmZoslQqDaLGT3VGRktv7Jztj72RVo/s1600/P1050299.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1OaKgJ9bDecaySIKG8_3Anlp6WrhUN-O1upiYBDjVLCR74WvhpOuyWl93_axo08pUiVICTBqWxL0hNi-9ThqPBwtkQIE1bvCNVSOzW9TTbz1fwQmZoslQqDaLGT3VGRktv7Jztj72RVo/s320/P1050299.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5528017018334704194" /></a><br /><br />Having my mother in site was, well, eye-opening. Rather than the astonishing disappointment normally portrayed to me at my abandoning my mother, the faces of my community were washed with thanks towards her for letting me come. Rather than the 12 straggling women who eventually make it to my women's committee meetings, all 23 showed up, with snacks, and even some hand-made ao po'i as a gift for a woman they had only heard about. It was beautiful.<br /><br />And then she left, and the comments returned. "How's your mom?" "She is so brave to let you stay here." "I cannot believe she still came to see you after you abandoned her." "You mean, you STILL live alone?" While their hearts seemed to lighten a bit with her visit, their basic understanding has not changed. <br /><br />And while my mom got to visit families, see my house, taste a few bites of Paraguayan food, and experience the hot Paraguayan sun, I have to wonder how much that little time could impact her understanding of my time here. <br /><br />I have been here a year, a little more now. I see things differently. The water going out for a day barely affects me, while a little comments about me or my lifestyle by a Paraguayan that has been said one to many times can turn my week upside down. There are things about this country that make me happy and the other things that drive me CRAZY, but they are the things that make this Paraguay. I don't think meeting my mother excused my lack of Paraguayan tradition in my life choice one bit. I don't think that translating Paraguayan jokes about me sunk in to my mother as it does to many volunteers. But the trip brought unexpected benefits as well. I do think they felt proud and productive giving her their ao po'i, and I do think she liked it. The exchange of s'mores and gifts with my family left everyone smiling through goey mouths. And so, while the deep lessons I wished to involve in my mothers visit seem to have fallen short, perhaps they landed just where they needed to be. <br /><br />And now, when asked, "You REALLY live alone?" I can reply, "Yes. And remember that time you met my mother? She lets me!"Jesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16330489032376443212noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4714625040808772132.post-27087180948464098922010-09-01T19:12:00.003-06:002010-09-01T19:27:32.626-06:00Show and TellIn second grade show and tell was great. I remember being proud of things as small as a painted rock, and my teacher made sure that everyone else appeared to care as well. Smiling broadly I presented whatever I brought, and then compared the items of others. I was generally jealous of the kids with stay-at home moms and new puppies, and prided myself that I chose to paint a rock, rather than the kid with a green stick…<br /><br />Growing up I never thought about how it felt to be the object, to be displayed and talked about. Of course there did appear in the classroom the periodic parent with a really cool job, but adult-hood seemed like such a far off dream that I concentrated on little more than how is was too bad we already had a teacher, so my mom wouldn’t be anything unique for show and tell.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFrSIWFpZoMThzQRoMZ73PRbgCVbgfNQfcnOh5V3Uj2htS5LOrgehTs_t-dYu4teRU4ELOpvx3Bl-mHbvvUDuo8w7kg_jbX1lzHuOxPEV-_XOp9TlOQjrZOmyJNfR9EaXXEmPgegBUVDU/s1600/meandPeter.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 261px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFrSIWFpZoMThzQRoMZ73PRbgCVbgfNQfcnOh5V3Uj2htS5LOrgehTs_t-dYu4teRU4ELOpvx3Bl-mHbvvUDuo8w7kg_jbX1lzHuOxPEV-_XOp9TlOQjrZOmyJNfR9EaXXEmPgegBUVDU/s320/meandPeter.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5512119598382725410" /></a><br />Holding Pedro, his mom calls him my child, he does make the visits easier though!<br /><br />Then I got to Paraguay. At first I thought everyone invited me everywhere with them because they liked me. Then it dawned on me that they were asking me if they could take me to their Associates house. Take me, like I took my rock. Word gets out further, and suddenly I find myself with invitations to be taken to the houses of people’s elderly parents, grandchildren, cousins, and estranged aunts five towns away.<br /><br />An invitation is an invitation. It means mingling with the people I now work for. Best of all I imagine Peace Corps giving me a high five and whispering “yeah girl” every time I head out on foot or horse cart. After-all, I will be completing the 2nd goal of my work here: teaching Paraguayans about Americans and their culture...because inevitably one of my weird American quirks will make itself evident. Also, I tend to leave with funny gifts, but that’s another story. It’s a win win. So I go.<br /><br />Upon the arrival at the stranger’s house, their lives are put on hold. They kiss my cheeks, kick someone out of a chair and make me sit in it, offer me juice or tea, admire my hair, ask me to look at their garden (when they hear I have one), ask me how Paraguay compares to Germany (I remind them that not all blond people are Germans who moved to Paraguay after World War II, and that I am actually from the US), talk to whoever brought me to the new place about me for a while (she is pretty, she is big, does she eat well? Does she speak Spanish? (funny considering I have been speaking to them in Spanish before this conversation begins), Guarani? (ditto)), and then the person responds with her precious little known facts, like how white my calves actually are, etc…<br /> <br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT6Xo1I_tTV-GwWM_4FUB9JhY3G7IVyBP7eGwrnEOM0ROiHHKN1ik3crHSlDxsmCcRB5zdHCCVPVQueCZIIwltcot_Bem7aC9zaN_qJL7lF8tAS7ZSqnZOrShTavJsYpTb7RECEfxhEGI/s1600/kidsss.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 272px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT6Xo1I_tTV-GwWM_4FUB9JhY3G7IVyBP7eGwrnEOM0ROiHHKN1ik3crHSlDxsmCcRB5zdHCCVPVQueCZIIwltcot_Bem7aC9zaN_qJL7lF8tAS7ZSqnZOrShTavJsYpTb7RECEfxhEGI/s320/kidsss.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5512119635088551618" /></a> Its a big thing that I have a camera. Visiting a family on birthday day leads to epic photos. Children in front of my cake gift, not smiling.<br /><br />Eventually we return to the interactive time where I answer questions, and periodically am made to do a trick, from making fruit salad to saying an English word. In this time I have to watch what I say. Yesterday I accidentally mentioned I was thinking about trying to make mandarin marmalade and before I knew it they had the ingredients on the table. I was then ordered to supervise a project I had no idea how to complete. Luckily the sun saved me, and I skipped out on a horse cart before the stuff was done cooking. (Which was probably not great…. I am pretty sure I quadrupled one ingredient and halved another accidentally…)<br /><br />I have no idea what these families say about me when I leave. I would like to think they spend the evening discussing how great and beautiful I am. Most likely they catch up on the time they lost during my visit, and forget about my visit for a little while, until they go to their neighbors house the next day to buy milk and remember to share with her about the quirky Spanish and Guarani speaking German who came to their house yesterday and made some pretty watery marmalade.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6iaZCMa0If5A0SPKwfbOV0N4Ph7nCw6McjW6Vr5zlyPbUC-pmQub0_RGv9eEm91BF_ZA-HZB-_jbr611u1PVcgtlPGCTSW4m4kxhgdOzocPTm6aYgwZuxt2hZN7gadVxTnQ6wSgpWXbY/s1600/cake.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 253px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6iaZCMa0If5A0SPKwfbOV0N4Ph7nCw6McjW6Vr5zlyPbUC-pmQub0_RGv9eEm91BF_ZA-HZB-_jbr611u1PVcgtlPGCTSW4m4kxhgdOzocPTm6aYgwZuxt2hZN7gadVxTnQ6wSgpWXbY/s320/cake.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5512119606676883922" /></a> The cake another neighbor hired me to make. That was a fun party. Everyone was so happy that the german girl knew how to make cakes like the Germans in town, but for cheaper!<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzixE2cabB6_rZSHsUrFvqfYHY-G3-3QDNvCp47pZmr5DNIwY-W07u9R5rwJSNeuuBgmABDHJYDlBjahgbCwe3QavyfQZvRZTpfwWQGd8ZySHpOErInk1NYu9C1beWT4dYO_Wn7c4gG30/s1600/chickensss.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 280px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzixE2cabB6_rZSHsUrFvqfYHY-G3-3QDNvCp47pZmr5DNIwY-W07u9R5rwJSNeuuBgmABDHJYDlBjahgbCwe3QavyfQZvRZTpfwWQGd8ZySHpOErInk1NYu9C1beWT4dYO_Wn7c4gG30/s320/chickensss.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5512119608065820194" /></a> Baby chickensssss. Some wealthy politician gave the committee money to buy everyone ten chickens. They were cute.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju8BSHxJFpkSOEjgvVZSY-gvPhVyNniRGmKy8Ztg2Cqg-VsDJ5G97gj4aMjI1BE1YdCZg9WZySAdF_CWtC-zCjSLYMoTjTIbvKTdMHBsFlFhcYnACiV2NE5gcU1WSMB1-ygB_k1X6hW1I/s1600/home-made+bread.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju8BSHxJFpkSOEjgvVZSY-gvPhVyNniRGmKy8Ztg2Cqg-VsDJ5G97gj4aMjI1BE1YdCZg9WZySAdF_CWtC-zCjSLYMoTjTIbvKTdMHBsFlFhcYnACiV2NE5gcU1WSMB1-ygB_k1X6hW1I/s320/home-made+bread.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5512119619637265362" /></a> Baking my own Rosemary bread. Delish! (and gives people something to brag about with!)Jesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16330489032376443212noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4714625040808772132.post-66174041605560329522010-08-06T17:02:00.003-06:002010-08-06T17:32:56.304-06:00Dirty DirtOne of the most ironic things about Paraguay is its iconic, the infamous, red dirt. It is red. And it is everywhere. Its sandy, it does not stay put, it dries quickly, and its hue is well, beautifully red. <br /><br />Amidst this dirt lives a people who are probably the tidiest people I know when it comes to negating this dirt from their lives. They embrace the dirt as their own, and then work hard, and yet seamlessly, to make its presence only known in their minds. As Peace Corps volunteers we were advised not to bring white shirts because of this dirt, yet Paraguayans living in the same town as I flaunt a white that almost glows.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBJ34y0A4TmYzoi4uARt2G6rdBA_dV0xAMlUl2kySPO_3KUjeBJjsWU8xwnIP9Kfir7cr5rMgqwtKQfKqDtO7KqEznvRvroP2lGNBfHdTTnBs5-P7Y_pYvBhRJqhIlayQj3SSiXbiANAM/s1600/P1050105.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBJ34y0A4TmYzoi4uARt2G6rdBA_dV0xAMlUl2kySPO_3KUjeBJjsWU8xwnIP9Kfir7cr5rMgqwtKQfKqDtO7KqEznvRvroP2lGNBfHdTTnBs5-P7Y_pYvBhRJqhIlayQj3SSiXbiANAM/s320/P1050105.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5502442816133389282" /></a><br /><br /><br />I will never understand this. My shirts all have a little pink tint now. Short up straight-up bleaching them every wash, I accustom it to the power of the dirt. If its been a dry week, and a truck drives by me walking down the ruta, or main road, I arrive to my destination coated in a pinky-dust. Every week I brush off an every-returning pink hue from the side of my fridge and top of my stove. Even with doors and windows closed, it seeps in.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOX3tcxgUa_L7W1EQTc9ERIHXZ5IjDCaO9upWqWgfB0GisXVVxtSSqrc46r4ePG33q9wBRqFV0T1zsURlN0agOO8OeLXcqIkzb2tSSqqnry9WiA6R-Zv4BOaw0Kv9YW7GuXjf-dd5DW6U/s1600/P1050104.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOX3tcxgUa_L7W1EQTc9ERIHXZ5IjDCaO9upWqWgfB0GisXVVxtSSqrc46r4ePG33q9wBRqFV0T1zsURlN0agOO8OeLXcqIkzb2tSSqqnry9WiA6R-Zv4BOaw0Kv9YW7GuXjf-dd5DW6U/s320/P1050104.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5502442801751328210" /></a><br />I had come to embrace the dirt. What else could I do? Recently a mis-understanding regarding a safety policy and my host family’s pride has caused a falling out. As we work our way back towards normalcy I immediately decided that it was probably good I never took to the fight against the dirt as they did. Sure, my white t-shirts (which they used to insist they wash) might be a little pink, along with the soles of my feet, but it does not bother me. <br /><br />One morning about a month ago, I received the funniest ultimatum ever: My family decided to make me fight the dirt. You see, every morning they sweep the area surrounding their house to remove the ‘dirt’. Ironic because it’s dirt, it’s a dirt yard. I recognize that it does look beautiful and organized when they are done, and perhaps they have successfully maintained the ground from becoming a sandy mess. But looking at the tree roots laying out and vulnerable looking atop the glowing orange ground, I also wonder what they are doing for the erosion process…<br /><br />Sweeping out my house, and my brick porch, my aunt said hello, followed by, “what you really need to sweep is your dirt lawn, it’s dirty.” Without complaint, to avoid confrontation, and giggling inside at the absurdity of it all, I stepped out in my boots and pajamas, grabbed the home-made broom resembling a witch’s favorite ride, and swept my little dirt area as best I could. We worked together to put the swept dirt in a bag to carry away. <br /><br />My lawn does look pretty. But I have to wonder if sweeping away a centimeter of dirt every day is any better than paving a road through an ecosystem. Which is more civilized? Which is right? And how many more mornings will I now feel guilted into participating in what is surely man-made erosion.<br /><br />And below:<br />Tony learned to shake! a blurry photo of my english class at graduation, and my garden in full bloom! Delicious!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMjsFHmsyv2-pPg0VU32h0fO8lN45YcddI0BwUSPRjYAO1kMk9ImYCoGcDOX8nvpE4tf88JhTTMZ59PEkuofWZJClfpu2xpHV1qIeqrcuU7NuYh-FCmhtpx9J99UqR2sxQDBn3JMIb8NM/s1600/P1040998_1.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMjsFHmsyv2-pPg0VU32h0fO8lN45YcddI0BwUSPRjYAO1kMk9ImYCoGcDOX8nvpE4tf88JhTTMZ59PEkuofWZJClfpu2xpHV1qIeqrcuU7NuYh-FCmhtpx9J99UqR2sxQDBn3JMIb8NM/s320/P1040998_1.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5502442798710583186" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDl1TsOv8abVt5X64icty8RLKs8yIpS10VeDfT0R_D2pDimO8zpC0W1kVzISFsv9JmdyVfGq_GRepEgnlvAS4IoZ3RAe1Rlc0grjtGZWXvAU0gB0s4tG0SHx8SIW7Ry4rQuRj44syegdY/s1600/P1040979_1.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDl1TsOv8abVt5X64icty8RLKs8yIpS10VeDfT0R_D2pDimO8zpC0W1kVzISFsv9JmdyVfGq_GRepEgnlvAS4IoZ3RAe1Rlc0grjtGZWXvAU0gB0s4tG0SHx8SIW7Ry4rQuRj44syegdY/s320/P1040979_1.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5502442789599947330" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj22FApOwLbwAzJaiHuNvOoSgXRxJSsXs3xxWuyMlgH-vsb08aG87yl-T6kO01pOpcIGOnyLMYeVsACqJutiU0YhN-fKkceJRPpcKhiZHTTiSRdv6XkLxkYBKiDdA7XyFKQ7F-E2kTPkF8/s1600/P1040977_1.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj22FApOwLbwAzJaiHuNvOoSgXRxJSsXs3xxWuyMlgH-vsb08aG87yl-T6kO01pOpcIGOnyLMYeVsACqJutiU0YhN-fKkceJRPpcKhiZHTTiSRdv6XkLxkYBKiDdA7XyFKQ7F-E2kTPkF8/s320/P1040977_1.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5502442782677579474" /></a>Jesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16330489032376443212noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4714625040808772132.post-10577394055554596992010-07-11T07:57:00.004-06:002010-07-11T08:06:40.487-06:00Two Worlds MeetThe days leading up to my first visitor from home were easily some of my most exciting and yet some of my most nerve-wracking: It would be a clash of two worlds…someone from school, life in Vermont, my existence in the US, would arrive in Paraguay, my reality within the mysterious identity of the Peace Corps. At 6:15am on June 19th, my adventure began.<br /><br />Within 3 hours it was as if Sarah had been here forever. The sun shone bright despite previous months of rain. In her first hours I noticed that the things that were new and surprising to her were generally what makes me laugh about Paraguay anyways. She loved the powerful feeling of a wad of 100 mils worth only about one hundred dollars. She became a Paraguayan soccer fan, watching her first game in the hotel lobby with the receptionist and maid. She savored the creamy-corny deliciousness of chipa guazu and the Lido bar’s infamous Fish soup. Then she froze with me on the overly climate controlled bus back to Villarica, newly addicted to Chipa (just like me).<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTJnJ-uTrhkdL1NF4GrHgP0dSNNQ3yTYYa0CBG3gVGWuTYuveEojWMz8AzybSpYrLRBhXWEaC00p3tAaSJKR-847CjeONP0zMN4TF5GZhTb7xUKqjwyBeGmlJniB0SjlepgO8sJ8ppwQQ/s1600/sarahbillsss.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTJnJ-uTrhkdL1NF4GrHgP0dSNNQ3yTYYa0CBG3gVGWuTYuveEojWMz8AzybSpYrLRBhXWEaC00p3tAaSJKR-847CjeONP0zMN4TF5GZhTb7xUKqjwyBeGmlJniB0SjlepgO8sJ8ppwQQ/s320/sarahbillsss.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5492648702749564850" /></a><br /><br />At site, she took on the life of a volunteer. She slept plenty, read plenty, and my community adored the girl who could only say “hello”, “a little bit”, and “no”, and yet spent afternoons at their houses eating their sopa, empanadas, and mandioca smiling and laughing with her. We came home at night and Sarah talked about the pleasantries of “camping” in my “village.” (Apparently the mystery would not wear-off, I figured, after-all, I consider my life pretty fancy, and I definitely live in a pretty suburban community…).<br /><br />Time passed quickly, and traveling began. After being told that Itaipu (large damn) was closed due to a Brazilian soccer game, we hitch-hiked to a Paraguayan-German hotel to watch Paraguay play its best game in the cup with a group of Guarani-swearing, terere-drinking men. The same afternoon we arrived in Argentina, where Spanish ruled, the steak and wine delicious, the roads paved, the waterfalls a visual, almost spiritual experience, and time passed too quickly.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4Pz8qLuYL_jZPJ-Ho3NnJpgTLtfPsypqYOIn4pGO4OkURKsGzVOxvXIXYrDR9kCerzfmbsmO2jdomreqaVHA7OINW3xWhyphenhyphenBt20KIE4lzmUWoVO8rHaFsiqwp0CSZH1rwbSZsyJwbTCu0/s1600/Sarahandmefalls.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4Pz8qLuYL_jZPJ-Ho3NnJpgTLtfPsypqYOIn4pGO4OkURKsGzVOxvXIXYrDR9kCerzfmbsmO2jdomreqaVHA7OINW3xWhyphenhyphenBt20KIE4lzmUWoVO8rHaFsiqwp0CSZH1rwbSZsyJwbTCu0/s320/Sarahandmefalls.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5492648691456253234" /></a><br /><br />Asuncion greeted us for the fourth of July with banners of red, white and blue covering the city… in celebration of Paraguay’s entrance into the final 8 of the world cup. To Sarah, the city also began to mean a break from the oil of traditional Paraguayan meals, where salads were available and not dangerous to eat, and where there were people who understood English. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4f9rT9jzHrIZj91aR4Y8JlaFqzyRiyOiCFtmwqpP9ibRCYvFJENOO1EUIXCN6yomLkUsn81IctALft-lY_3Na-uB00Gg8JpJkIFLbrGSx5O7sBziM6ZBRk1F7luLaTfzNyUbTtGmYyVE/s1600/gamewatching.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4f9rT9jzHrIZj91aR4Y8JlaFqzyRiyOiCFtmwqpP9ibRCYvFJENOO1EUIXCN6yomLkUsn81IctALft-lY_3Na-uB00Gg8JpJkIFLbrGSx5O7sBziM6ZBRk1F7luLaTfzNyUbTtGmYyVE/s320/gamewatching.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5492648683684210930" /></a> Surrounded by tvs and jersey’s we watched Paraguay fall from the world cup, saw the city’s heart deflating to disappear to houses terere in the plaza, and walked home as it began to rise again with honking, flag waving, and street fireworks in celebration of the success of the team of a small, fairly unknown country, and the message that gave to people around the world. Without planning, Sarah lucked out to be in Paraguay for the World Cup, an experience in itself.<br /><br />Back to site we tacked on a few more Paraguay-only experiences. At 4 am on a Tuesday, Sarah milked her first cow with my host mom, then dined at 5 on fresh Cocido and bread chunks. My women’s committee cried when I told them she was leaving. The last night we carried home, roasted and ate the freshly slaughtered and cleaned 3 month old pig Sarah bought for her despedida “goodbye.”<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOj-Zz-jYXmVekyu5Rq-eCYkO7sVn3MYtkOtEYhQIUBuWtwa31vS0ojxlLez9D9h4NMkzWDfBLeRhAU695A93qqkQOyq7j9phLxK-1EjVx3cxPz0MQLoCNQzwnATyIPKv60GgYNk_yX48/s1600/pig.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOj-Zz-jYXmVekyu5Rq-eCYkO7sVn3MYtkOtEYhQIUBuWtwa31vS0ojxlLez9D9h4NMkzWDfBLeRhAU695A93qqkQOyq7j9phLxK-1EjVx3cxPz0MQLoCNQzwnATyIPKv60GgYNk_yX48/s320/pig.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5492648712190124882" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_8S3UjMvHQwdnRLmJVxdAF20QY8CEaGqgUSVr1KwZW3qWP69C1X5SvZRen6HvZ7iTCCVimbrgirgU-fpVuymImn6MhwMSkAjCLruqR55Qo2LIAnhf9lxMbzctE2uuIDxfHPNBUSTp8Js/s1600/sarahmilks.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_8S3UjMvHQwdnRLmJVxdAF20QY8CEaGqgUSVr1KwZW3qWP69C1X5SvZRen6HvZ7iTCCVimbrgirgU-fpVuymImn6MhwMSkAjCLruqR55Qo2LIAnhf9lxMbzctE2uuIDxfHPNBUSTp8Js/s320/sarahmilks.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5492648710452447698" /></a><br /><br />On our last day in Asuncion, she followed me around as I did errands. We laughed at the over-all wearing hippie who came on the bus to play bamboo flute to a tune on his wooden boom-box, we officially befriended the craft-vender who had now sold us 2 cow-foot mugs, we lunched on the stairs of a closed night-club, had our last fancy dinner, and at midnight she headed towards the airport in taxi after our groggy goodbye. <br /><br />It was the next morning that it sunk in how much I would miss her. All my fears of worlds combining melted within 10 minutes of seeing her, and bringing a taste of home to my experience here was exactly what I needed. Having lived (“camped”) in my community (“village”), didn’t drastically change her perspective on my life here, and it somehow made my experience, my time here, and my reason for being here more real. <br /><br />Maybe Paraguay is morning her departure as well, since she has left its rained heavily for three days, and since beginning this post my electricity has gone in and out 3 times in an electrical storm…Jesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16330489032376443212noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4714625040808772132.post-89670438046867484162010-07-03T15:45:00.003-06:002010-07-03T16:02:10.717-06:00Vamos Paraguay!If there is anything I have learned over the last few weeks, its that Soccer is not soccer, its Futbol. Its that one team of about 15 people can truly inspire and connect a country with a giant economic and currently political divide, its that in my mind, futbol belongs to Latin America.<br /><br />I know Paraguay just lost their game. I know a lot of people from home like Spain better because they studied there, because they think the players are cuter, or maybe because they just simply know the place. I have already gotten some messages saying to move on because Paraguay lost. <br /><br />But they don't understand. I wanted Paraguay to win not because of the game. I wanted Paraguay to win, because when their star player was shot in the head in a blatant attack in Mexico last November the world didnt care, but Paraguayans held prayer circles. I wanted Paraguay to win because when they tied Italy in their first game, even without their lead striker, the country earned more google searches than ever before: people were noticing. I wanted Paraguay to win because when I wear my Paraguayan jersey around, every person I pass skips the normal catcall, questioning of my nationality, and skeezy whistles, and instead claps and thanks me for my support. I wanted Parguay to win because the players come from small rural towns, they trained in the red dirt shooting between pine-apply bushes and finally made it big time (many of the communities giving rise to the stars are still poor enough to have a Peace Corps volunteer.) I wanted Paraguay to win because after we lost today it felt like someone had died, the world went quiet, the streets in downtown Asuncion emptied... and then 30 minutes later, when the tears dried, and the death of a chance sufficiently mourned, the songs for the team and slow clapping for the team began to spread from alley to alley.<br /><br />Unfortunately it looks like the World Cup finals are going to be two European countries. Not to discount their emotion, likely they have several important fans, but a win to them doesn't mean that the world will google them, that businesses will look into their economy, that they will receive any sort of economic or social benefit other than the prize money. And my guess is that Spain, however much they wanted to win that game, would not have followed the loss drying their wet eyes with claps of appreciation, respect and a goal for 2014 despite the recent deflation of a small country's whole-hearted dream. I guess in that sense, Paraguay won. And however cheesy this realization, I was dang proud to be wearing the red and white striped jersey and shouting at the Spaniards in Guarani. <br /><br />Europe may keep taking the World Cup, but Futbol belongs to the spirit and heart of Latin America.Jesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16330489032376443212noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4714625040808772132.post-92079123342221852832010-06-10T17:08:00.004-06:002010-06-10T17:31:04.497-06:006 months of service (9 including training)… Done. A landmark. A success in time. A reminder that I have 18 months left. Time here plays with your mind. Days pass slowly, weeks fly by, months do both, and you wonder simultaneously if you can make it so long and if you have enough to make your service a complete success.<br /><br />Who knows really. They say that the first 6 months here are the hardest. Come tomorrow, I will pass that landmark. I will also be climbing out of my biggest slump thus far. I hit a wall last week: my projects were being rejected, my community seemed hard if not impossible to motivate, a misunderstanding made a newly comfortable friendship regressed to the beginning. I felt like I was back at school with way too much work to even think about, except this time there was not a paper to write to solve my problems.<br /><br />Nobody ever said Peace Corps was easy. In fact, when I asked most returned volunteers the response was generally a broad “It is an incredible, life-changing experience.” I am pretty sure people said that about seeing Avatar for the first time, so you can imagine my expectations: aside from likely lower living standards, not understanding the people I was supposed to work with very well, and new foods... I really didn’t have any.<br /><br />When I got here I was astonished at my luck. Paraguay is after-all a beautiful country, with friendly people, pretty good food (obsessed with all forms of chipa, still), and dspite a minor set-back early on I was placed in a great little town ready to work. It wasn’t until Tuesday or so when the harder points of my new reality hit. <br /><br />Tomorrow marks 6 months. Indeed, the newness of my situation is gone. It was a startling discovery, but it’s a new perspective, and a new opportunity. The things that didn’t work out so far, I wont continue. The things that did, I will. And all the extra time other volunteers DID warn me about but I did not understand until now, well I will utilize that for me instead of letting it make me feel like I don’t do enough. It may have taken me 6 months, but now I see that maybe I am the only one who always wants to start a worm compost or plant trees because I have no cows to milk, no chickens to feed, no children to care for, and no large fields to hoe and plant. Maybe I will change some of that (namely, a small demo-plot or field… no worries, no young children to take care of, and my neighbors politely destroyed my dream of owning a duck by reminding me that they had a pond and it would likely run towards their water… and away from me…) <br /><br />The glitter may be gone, but I have 18 months left to try to make the most of my service. I will probably hit a few more walls, but the mean time I plan to continue to work for and with the town when they have time, and when they don’t, to add a little work for myself (home-made soap making? Crocheting? Painting? I have the time most people don’t have until retirement). I have no specific project or activity in mind, just a plan to utilize my opportunity to the best of my ability, because even in my low points, I recognize that it has been, and it will continue to be incredible to make my job, my home, and my life for the next 18 months in rural Paraguay. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8ShJ0wH57bxYfxEgY6ggy5ZbCijouTsYXr1JUG3hht7t3_G4V34lPiU0RsFV6okRUel9NInBFXkrNKiG1P1Md4I4S93zvNelsqtgoCFucnK8r6hkyDroCk9-vuqvY_1evxaXGdc6POzI/s1600/garden.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8ShJ0wH57bxYfxEgY6ggy5ZbCijouTsYXr1JUG3hht7t3_G4V34lPiU0RsFV6okRUel9NInBFXkrNKiG1P1Md4I4S93zvNelsqtgoCFucnK8r6hkyDroCk9-vuqvY_1evxaXGdc6POzI/s320/garden.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5481287200484094738" /></a>And something is working for me, because my lack of a green thumb in the states has somehow made everything in my garden here in Paraguay start to grow! Maybe at the 9-month mark, I will at least have some amazing veggies to eat. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimqfNEeu6O8QKidcCT4nwbsvP0NUUAYKN3e7wzhg0vP2ZTq4Zw4A-JBrBazxJ1-YwS938ZbxYvflNrDdnJfKvQ9mk9mfFS___aKULQfM9PkQ52MfHR4lvwgsSiIeb5SACzeXGhvyzycFk/s1600/tony.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimqfNEeu6O8QKidcCT4nwbsvP0NUUAYKN3e7wzhg0vP2ZTq4Zw4A-JBrBazxJ1-YwS938ZbxYvflNrDdnJfKvQ9mk9mfFS___aKULQfM9PkQ52MfHR4lvwgsSiIeb5SACzeXGhvyzycFk/s320/tony.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5481287222738055042" /></a> Tony is the most faithful and loyal dog ever. Follows me around everywhere.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitImyYvMWEA3Vfa2IRxk0rq8f1yOFC_h8pBttWxqbzmcv9emaAgLDgI82VlR0YIlvY8LygGJvCsk4drH97-y4vNgndEJz-I56tvOtDAocIZww5HG0WHjp80kOTTZnf4wdPFVyozrfHmrk/s1600/sugarcane.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitImyYvMWEA3Vfa2IRxk0rq8f1yOFC_h8pBttWxqbzmcv9emaAgLDgI82VlR0YIlvY8LygGJvCsk4drH97-y4vNgndEJz-I56tvOtDAocIZww5HG0WHjp80kOTTZnf4wdPFVyozrfHmrk/s320/sugarcane.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5481287205176334530" /></a> Its sugarcane season, the farmers bring it to my house to load it up in a truck.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUn3qz1NNxg7fewJPcpVzHabXkFwDVylD93jpUB1MFiGSMxXljLhsMRwWit8G4sTWV8Hj_BG4bd5AvluQn3EGRqk_3y-cuI290QONWiUhThJpmFTgzBdRPB7SR9jF_Mv5PeoixOSTC06o/s1600/detergent.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUn3qz1NNxg7fewJPcpVzHabXkFwDVylD93jpUB1MFiGSMxXljLhsMRwWit8G4sTWV8Hj_BG4bd5AvluQn3EGRqk_3y-cuI290QONWiUhThJpmFTgzBdRPB7SR9jF_Mv5PeoixOSTC06o/s320/detergent.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5481287192813163746" /></a><br />The one thing I am really pumped about is teaching the women's committee every 15 days. Here they are making dish soap from a kit. Its a lot cheaper to make your own than to buy it in the store.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU8xnkeSAUTA6Gn_h9G1-gKPIybwHH45zvTR1OjoThsODORReJtFMh2V-hkvURXQd0hYp-XmcTsHspBG1vuUo9oTI1-hyyi44bUMpKgZ5lAG9lOBE7zr4RvwiFhyRJXgyR17gIJgr0ueg/s1600/trashcans.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU8xnkeSAUTA6Gn_h9G1-gKPIybwHH45zvTR1OjoThsODORReJtFMh2V-hkvURXQd0hYp-XmcTsHspBG1vuUo9oTI1-hyyi44bUMpKgZ5lAG9lOBE7zr4RvwiFhyRJXgyR17gIJgr0ueg/s320/trashcans.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5481290444920455506" /></a>Jesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16330489032376443212noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4714625040808772132.post-66092590679450991232010-05-19T11:40:00.002-06:002010-05-24T13:39:14.684-06:00The RainWhen they made jokes about volunteers beginning to shine any wood furniture in their house with their chap-stick due to weeks of rain in training, I didn’t believe it. The rains, when they came, were indeed ample at that time, but they went as fast as they came, and we were back to the heat.<br /><br />They didn’t lie. I am now on my second day of rain, after a short 3 day break from 4 straight days of rain. And when I say a day of rain, I mean it has been raining all day, pouring at times, misting at others, with plenty of lightening and thunder interspersed. Since I am in Paraguay, this also means that life as I know it shuts down. The road becomes a mud-slide slalom for only the bravest or foolish moto-driver, school closes, meetings are canceled, and the world around me becomes muddy, wet, and freezing cold. (or around 45 degrees, which, without heat, feels close to freezing.) <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7EO9rdcNPiv9C8R3A3kHT_Cm2f_KgIr3NCW1aVuv503uzHnxt1bbx3zWXjv3KoMzF0cb5fGooV45GNxFJFBYPAb7MxsmIEdYgXUKelYMkw1JT84hmPMTc0yl3mXs9bU3sRSNBGNxCGa0/s1600/highway.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7EO9rdcNPiv9C8R3A3kHT_Cm2f_KgIr3NCW1aVuv503uzHnxt1bbx3zWXjv3KoMzF0cb5fGooV45GNxFJFBYPAb7MxsmIEdYgXUKelYMkw1JT84hmPMTc0yl3mXs9bU3sRSNBGNxCGa0/s320/highway.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5474860989686580882" border="0"></a><br /><br />In a way, it’s nice. On rainy days, nothing is expected of me. If I am not careful, I expect little of myself (the clouds, the mud, the families not leaving their own homes makes it uninspiring for me to do the same). You get into a rainy day zone, although it sometimes takes me a moment to remember were the rain leaks into my house and move my chair in time to not get wet. I do crafts, I plan <font style="font-style: italic;">charlas</font>, I now surf the internet (something I only do on rainy days since it takes so long for random pages to load when I have things to do), I bake, I talk on my cell phone an obscene amount, and I head over in my mud boots to sit around the <font style="font-style: italic;">fogon</font> with my host mom, drink mate, and talk about the latest family gossip (today’s conversation included my host sister’s new love interest, a local 19 year old police officer from the town over). And then, I go to bed ridiculously early, after tucking Tony into his bed (he gets cold too!) only to somehow wake up late the next day.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk28swf7rq_GdcOW4rjr8YE_Ts7E9Xhs9sWPyabLkPXxuB1CLNnqNSud8IyM_bs8-v_nt0kZ78wCZlaUg64svmYxRf6Wxlf9oRD8GzeAzk9-kJEptOLpa6DCIwHnzH4CiKGHBZBvVLouk/s1600/tonycold.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk28swf7rq_GdcOW4rjr8YE_Ts7E9Xhs9sWPyabLkPXxuB1CLNnqNSud8IyM_bs8-v_nt0kZ78wCZlaUg64svmYxRf6Wxlf9oRD8GzeAzk9-kJEptOLpa6DCIwHnzH4CiKGHBZBvVLouk/s320/tonycold.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5474860978308267170" border="0"></a><br /><br />Short times seem long. And then you realize it is. Who knows if this is a standard Paraguayan winter, they cannot even remember what it was like last year (I think its an effect of the extreme heat during the summer. And after days of thinking “well, at least the garden is happy” I just went outside to see that many of my little plants succumbed to mud flows and drowned leaves.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiNdirWOtLNj0xsJP2UrRVRiOhXjUjg_9LWwgtC9JulayRwLqKPkKCykgINF2CFwk7wVT35EAjoy6SPh4wGKI0EZ4e0sOwZK67rHEYP4v8ReHeedywrJd8GOfJZ90CL3jA587kHMuE6gc/s1600/arugula.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiNdirWOtLNj0xsJP2UrRVRiOhXjUjg_9LWwgtC9JulayRwLqKPkKCykgINF2CFwk7wVT35EAjoy6SPh4wGKI0EZ4e0sOwZK67rHEYP4v8ReHeedywrJd8GOfJZ90CL3jA587kHMuE6gc/s320/arugula.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5474860963085760322" border="0"></a><br /><br />Luckily there’s mate, fireside chats, and many warm blankets to bide the time until the sun returns, my world dries again, and I am far too busy to remember the down, although moist, times.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR5eAAicb2skDRLX0uris0PBN9eVxaKNaM4y5edTY6dVrHJnKvrdZPpeKNsc3ezKoLw7kk4LqVXXm-U4Lp8iwihUwGs2cqCTVV60cVutaIHcsRXFcEJvTI3FoIXM5Tq9dof8l8FgRkE74/s1600/compostpile.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR5eAAicb2skDRLX0uris0PBN9eVxaKNaM4y5edTY6dVrHJnKvrdZPpeKNsc3ezKoLw7kk4LqVXXm-U4Lp8iwihUwGs2cqCTVV60cVutaIHcsRXFcEJvTI3FoIXM5Tq9dof8l8FgRkE74/s320/compostpile.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5474860983482965506" border="0"></a> One day, between the rain, we got a little work done. Here are some kids at the school building a compost pile in front of the school garden we made!Jesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16330489032376443212noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4714625040808772132.post-59655467552865553562010-05-07T11:58:00.004-06:002010-05-07T12:46:52.550-06:00My Veggie TaleIn the countryside of Paraguay, where land is fairly abundant and self-production of crops is common, it makes no sense NOT to have a garden. Paraguay is pushing for family gardens: they provide cheap and abundant food, and encourage families to include more vegetables in a country where meat and corn is generally preferred. Peace Corps encourages volunteers to join in on this process, so much so that we receive two days of garden training before headed out to site. We had practice each splitting one piece of bamboo (previously cut from the stock and into smaller pieces), and attaching them together with wire. We also collectively made three tablons (or above-ground seed-beds), and planted. The simplicity of each activity meant that three months later, in site and with a piece of land for my huerta-ra (future garden), I gave myself two days to get it all ready.<br /> The real deal was nothing like training, or it was, but about ten times more difficult. My piece of land was 3 times the size of our training garden, and it came unclean. I spent the first day chopping and removing all thick vines and root-filled plants from the land with my machete, host mom leading the way. Soon after I was hoeing away at the remaining grasses, a process that took me two days, a weeklong hiatus to wait for rain and a softer ground to continue the process, and then another afternoon. Once clean, we had to fence it off. I was fortunate enough to have chain-link fence donated to me. So it only took one full day to dig deep holes, seek out wood to serve as posts, and nail the chain-link fence to it all. Unfortunately, it didn’t fit.<br /> Then came bamboo. I searched around my garden for the small, pre-sawed pieces provided to me in training… I found none. Off to the bamboo fields in a horse cart, where for an entire morning my sister and I searched the bamboo for mature stalks, chopped them down by machete, and then pulled and dragged them into a pile before sawing them into semi-smaller pieces and piling them back in the cart to take home.<br /> The next 5 days were non-stop work. First I cut the bamboo into usable sizes and then split it. Then I dug and installed a place for my compost pile, abonera in Spanish. Next I installed the bamboo in the places the fence would not reach (no chickens!). Finally my brother helped me nail together a gate. I then began digging. Double digging a seed-bed is a tiring activity, one that took me two days to complete six. By that time, my hands were bruised from slamming the shovel in the ground, and I swear my forearm had new muscles. I finally spent a day hoeing and raking down the seed-beds into nice little rectangles. That night I slept for over twelve hours, recuperating the energy my work had drained from me. The next morning I planted, including putting out semi-cheesy and yet needed marking signs for where I planted what. Then I went to a training activity.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqul8j9H8hk43GY3skXZtwe68aK0djrcHJxZf6ObAuM5ORmQWr3i_sAdKh_cyfEvKz6iOZPRKZVe5ed7JBOyqTt5BABKVbCAMXUG5vAzuqanT6iv1S-ueTAq7yMgR-Tl6IVlfPHL62mFw/s1600/Garden1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_CoDZItZr108/S-Rbtyc41vI/AAAAAAAAAKc/24UhblDJkAk<br />/s320/Garden1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5468596689729804018" /></a><br />The garden, right after planting and the first water! May never look this good again.<br /> I returned frightful, a heavy rain had come during my absence, and though I new I did my best, I doubted my ability to keep seeds from washing away in the tides from the sky. They didn’t. I have radishes already an inch tall, and the arugula is coming in thick, crowding rows with a thick green. My small planters are full of broccoli, coliflower, eggplant, pepper, and tomato seedlings. Looking at my garden I have never been so proud and intimidated simultaneously. It was the hardest physical work I have done yet here, and though it took some time, I did it. Paraguayans are impressed, and I am amazed. I realize that the battle will continue. Soon will come droughts, bugs, and unwanted weeds. But its there, its complete, and as of right now, it looks pretty dang good. <br /><br /><br />PS. The list of things planted includes: beets, thyme, lettuce (3 types), arugula, broccoli, small pumpkins, butternut squash, cucumber, onion, cabbage, eggplant, cowpeas, basil, spinach, banana peppers, garden beans, zucchini, summer squash, cilantro, parsley, carrots (2 types), radishes, jalapenos, tomatoes, peppers, and coliflower. Lets hope it all sprouts!<br /><br />P.S.S. As always, any additional seeds are welcome! The seed availability in Paraguay is limited, and several of the ones already planted and doing the best came in a package from my mom (thanks!). I am especially interested in tomatillo and other hot weather seeds…<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjtm1JwaGq7SekxcH81nvNFmSTZr-jq4zxfZc-7CCT7p2Gde2qXex1QfKoNLSZtUe80cY2M6E6afD79feNqq9A4wKLMdpZGQ_fwVwgkVEq8cpHFOQEazIfDVtmeKcYShpfkhipYQYLweY/s1600/Garden2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjtm1JwaGq7SekxcH81nvNFmSTZr-jq4zxfZc-7CCT7p2Gde2qXex1QfKoNLSZtUe80cY2M6E6afD79feNqq9A4wKLMdpZGQ_fwVwgkVEq8cpHFOQEazIfDVtmeKcYShpfkhipYQYLweY/s320/Garden2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5468596700843376242" /></a><br />View from a bit closer.<br /><br />Now More random photos!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2vmDzGTwXv-0HLapJ1laPvfJuZePCY4RBWrYwbh3OgfjClNXPc83aAv2Td9wwJhKmjZzPvPBXirNYsBxVzaAXZkKNfMXufZsVvlhmvagJIdoMQ26xXPCNqIlj9t3qoRqKTr3__aK2-Qg/s1600/TonySize.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2vmDzGTwXv-0HLapJ1laPvfJuZePCY4RBWrYwbh3OgfjClNXPc83aAv2Td9wwJhKmjZzPvPBXirNYsBxVzaAXZkKNfMXufZsVvlhmvagJIdoMQ26xXPCNqIlj9t3qoRqKTr3__aK2-Qg/s320/TonySize.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5468596721113239922" /></a><br />He is getting bigger! Now double the length of my shoe.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihmk8LEB4grJJQnT3rxMrNTBagu4RCcWy0jbHSKzexbliQLJme4hjLDWm9qk8YO9vEAF3D0x2lnG1ynkM9_N-4RVKHuaG1k1rrJCXl35H_Shkg3ekxV6I2JmHBSSF-6FmNl2z1zBUe1iI/s1600/TonySit.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 282px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihmk8LEB4grJJQnT3rxMrNTBagu4RCcWy0jbHSKzexbliQLJme4hjLDWm9qk8YO9vEAF3D0x2lnG1ynkM9_N-4RVKHuaG1k1rrJCXl35H_Shkg3ekxV6I2JmHBSSF-6FmNl2z1zBUe1iI/s320/TonySit.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5468596710743981074" /></a><br />Still a smiley puppy.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs7KBq_8m1AwzwGa-mw723aPqEbfEDAgxmZRPK0_7BRO4bVAZcIpmk6cSu9M1BvBLWqlEFwAf6pmLFa1dNJWEAId0x5pT-brEAnrK9Q89PCB32ie9MCyvJvAUXNZ40omFFS-XlMWUaxYQ/s1600/PigRaising.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs7KBq_8m1AwzwGa-mw723aPqEbfEDAgxmZRPK0_7BRO4bVAZcIpmk6cSu9M1BvBLWqlEFwAf6pmLFa1dNJWEAId0x5pT-brEAnrK9Q89PCB32ie9MCyvJvAUXNZ40omFFS-XlMWUaxYQ/s320/PigRaising.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5468596704166036130" /></a><br />My family killed their year old huge pig one morning. It took the entire family to raise it up to be skinned. They sold only the meat, which added up to 93 Kilos (about 180 pounds) and then ate all of the bacon, skin, fat, and the head. I politely declined most of it. Just couldn't do it.Jesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16330489032376443212noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4714625040808772132.post-29779415754808229192010-04-29T18:00:00.003-06:002010-04-29T18:31:07.437-06:00Committees, People, ... Progress?The agriculture committee I work with is the bane, and the basis of my existence in this community. We come together every Monday afternoon to talk about agriculture, get excited about the possibility the government might give us goats, and then, well, they proceed to argue with each other until the sun goes down. I wander home in the dark with a headache. <br /> My friends here know how much I dread these meetings, and overall it comes off as me hating the committee. But I realized something this week; it’s not the people (well, most of them) I dislike, but them TOGETHER. In small groups, they are actually quite enjoyable. Case in point: Tuesday’s field-trip.<br /> My committee often works closely with an agent of the Paraguayan governments department of agricultural development. On Monday at the meeting, we were all invited to attend a “dia del campo” or day of talks about sugar cane in a town about an hour away. Despite the fact that the ministry was providing buses, I really did not want to go. They made me.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGIEht6udSES2CSCOCZoSyhD8WaOtnx9Ey4q03-I6LKMJKHQXMjLYt5aZ1EHNRrkhowiqApvOz9gIHcwWxKi5HgjPiRkFSQGKRSP9fc4B1JaPl7UPhmMqOflgj7AczCuNvThEQ0t7aKjM/s1600/ontractor.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGIEht6udSES2CSCOCZoSyhD8WaOtnx9Ey4q03-I6LKMJKHQXMjLYt5aZ1EHNRrkhowiqApvOz9gIHcwWxKi5HgjPiRkFSQGKRSP9fc4B1JaPl7UPhmMqOflgj7AczCuNvThEQ0t7aKjM/s320/ontractor.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5465717276785209266" /></a><br /> A 6 am start meant nothing for Paraguayan time, and our bus rolled in around 9:30 am where we shuffled towards the room where the talks were taking place. It was full… more so, PACKED. So we left. At his point the 7 people from my committee that I was with decided that they really didn’t care about sugar cane. Soooo, we went and found tractors to play on (see photo) and then ate a ton of mandarins from the fields of trees. Then we sat and Terere-d in the shade, waiting for the promised lunch.<br /> We talked we laughed. At one point one of them opened their thermos and showed me they had replaced water with seeds for green manures they wanted for their fields. I was so proud. I showed them my bag, in which I had gathered more mandarins than I thought to share with my family back home. They laughed and another opened her purse… igual, full of mandarins. (I am eating one right now; by the way, they are delicious, sweet, and juicy).<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg67qOqTGRBlNi_99Tzw_1lTKjrVBLfzc8XjMmTo4KsnSEZrBeJArcYe-mcrzZ-BdyYRaBsVK0yPy86_Dqb43w_yUUnp-4OFGvw-ZmslfR2fk1rjN8nWA_dnnhRki6eEEn3RHL1bOaHO3I/s1600/purseomandarin.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg67qOqTGRBlNi_99Tzw_1lTKjrVBLfzc8XjMmTo4KsnSEZrBeJArcYe-mcrzZ-BdyYRaBsVK0yPy86_Dqb43w_yUUnp-4OFGvw-ZmslfR2fk1rjN8nWA_dnnhRki6eEEn3RHL1bOaHO3I/s320/purseomandarin.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5465717281927626594" /></a><br /> We laughed more. We bonded. I realized that they are great…IN SMALL GROUPS. Wednesday there was another “emergency” meeting to decide what to do with the corn seeds. I strolled in and noticed that the whole group that had attended the “dia del campo” greeted me smiling more than usual, and we all chuckled a little as we reunited. It had been a good day. Totally useless in terms of technical information, but useful for me to put a perspective on what my committee really is: a group of people, working, sometimes together and more than often simply TRYING to work together, to bring change to their lives. <br /> Wednesday’s meeting still gave me a headache, but I left giggling. If they are at a farm and snatching seeds of green manures to rejuvenate their soils rather than attending a talk on soil-destroying sugar cane, maybe they, and I, are headed somewhere positive.<br /><br />P.S. In other news...<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwc51EuUizRlyulNvMlDGXKuC-m6EaBdjqh2Lr_coKUQYvYsU_ahwmJ76QGD3gOpsjP38m-jqZfNWtX0v7kn4hMWXmzQQY0wkva3HVldgMWXOrYhnceKkMUKOZphQ-FwuFtrbmvOOihAE/s1600/tonyonbed.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 312px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwc51EuUizRlyulNvMlDGXKuC-m6EaBdjqh2Lr_coKUQYvYsU_ahwmJ76QGD3gOpsjP38m-jqZfNWtX0v7kn4hMWXmzQQY0wkva3HVldgMWXOrYhnceKkMUKOZphQ-FwuFtrbmvOOihAE/s320/tonyonbed.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5465717294547664658" /></a><br />Tony disappeared from his blanket on the floor one night while I was reading... I eventually followed him in the kitchen for fear he was eating trash and found that he had somehow realized that beds were comfortable, jumped onto the guest bed, and curled up. No idea how he got this idea, he had never even been on a bed before!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc3U-_pgbRLjrSFZ21GVTfwWIJR87oI7i53ETvjxrhssI2GlyX2ZWmod09GBbZkd7NjcrDQSDUHdv5MwCQxd5p14Rec8Yq0WL21PmUBbWtY5FhdnzK-y0_iZG07NC87WzMvBEwb3BugKo/s1600/sneakytoad.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 283px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc3U-_pgbRLjrSFZ21GVTfwWIJR87oI7i53ETvjxrhssI2GlyX2ZWmod09GBbZkd7NjcrDQSDUHdv5MwCQxd5p14Rec8Yq0WL21PmUBbWtY5FhdnzK-y0_iZG07NC87WzMvBEwb3BugKo/s320/sneakytoad.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5465717286309714594" /></a><br />This toad has been living between the guest bed and the wall for a week. I try to sweep it out but the spot is too small and this particular toad is too dang fast. Normally they puff up and stay still at the sound of the broom. Not this one, he jumps all over the place. At first his unpredictability made me hate him. Now I still think he is gross and he creeps me out, but I am trying to except his presence until I can make a Paraguayan come help me with the situation. I guess one week of harmony isn't too hard for me to deal with.Jesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16330489032376443212noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4714625040808772132.post-58730305773063455192010-04-22T09:28:00.004-06:002010-04-23T18:15:55.247-06:00Seperate LivesI lead two lives here in Paraguay. Well not really, they are both very much mine, including me being me, but their potential combination seems so surreal that I have deemed it impossible. <br /><br />Life one: My life in site. The reason I came here, where I work and spend way more than the majority of my time. It’s a simple, but amazing life. It has its ups and its downs, but as I connect with the people more and more I remember that so does life in the States. My life here includes anyone in the community who wants to work with me, but revolves around my family. When I got to my new site, I was told there were no open houses in the community.. that is, until a family I had spent a little more than 6 hours with total invited me to live in theirs, and they would move right next door to their grandpa’s house.<br /> It seemed too good to be true… it wasn’t. They did just that and now I live in a great house only ten feet away from what has truly become my Paraguayan family. They take care of me: when I sniffled this afternoon they were immediately at the orange tree knocking off the ripe ones to make me juice. If I ever get home late from working in the morning, they inevitably show up at my door with lunch, where instead of saying “we saw there was no way you had time to cook,” they always hand me the plate and politely request that I “try” their food. As if all of this was not enough, they guard my house, help me clean my lawn, include me in celebrations, and take wonderful care of my puppy (who is so much bigger!) when I am gone. <br /> My life in site is a simple one, I still laugh when the turkeys and chickens climb the ladder up to the mango-tree branches they sleep in at night. My family still laughs when I sweep the toads out of my house squealing. But it’s a good life, and the one that keeps me motivated to work to help the people around me.<br /><br />Life two: About once a month I find myself traveling to the big city of Asuncion, be it for a meeting, material gatherings, or a swine flu vaccination. I rarely spend more than 3 incomplete days there, and yet the time seems to pass as in a different world. <br /> In fact, it is a different world. English dominates my time. I stay in hotel rooms that have likely not seen toads or tree frogs or tarantulas. I eat at restaurants with menu’s that include things like shish-ka-bobs, “the American classic” hamburger, and teramisu. I rush about, taking no mid-day siesta, and go to fancy offices to collect papers, free garden seeds, or information for my site. Ironic considering the majority of people in my site could never consider living the life I live as I gather the materials. It’s a break. It’s a relief. It keeps me grounded. But I must admit, no matter the fun I have with the food or the English, or being able to spend time with friends, I am always ready to get back to my other life.<br /><br />Returning home (to site), its like the time in Asuncion never happened. I pop popcorn for dinner as the turkeys and chickens saunter up the mango trees. I talk about the weather with my grandpa. My neighbors ask what I learned while I was gone. Then I sweep out the toads, and go to bed in my safari-style mosquito net content at the normalcy and balance I have slowly settled into while living in Paraguay.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijX8Ndcyhab2cjQv_5NeVK6IVI5JxMr1xWjUXuz85fckqO4mde-_FCpkrxmjy0-iOxa3FmlEpMLNtYKvz8nxdqxZjf4dPo_7VOrf82FXbYIRfq9_5hbwSW8TeuaQTAZL5UVcmGW2mOmKM/s1600/tonylays.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 225px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijX8Ndcyhab2cjQv_5NeVK6IVI5JxMr1xWjUXuz85fckqO4mde-_FCpkrxmjy0-iOxa3FmlEpMLNtYKvz8nxdqxZjf4dPo_7VOrf82FXbYIRfq9_5hbwSW8TeuaQTAZL5UVcmGW2mOmKM/s320/tonylays.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5463489396423414850" /></a><br />Tony has gotten bigger!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ5mdcYPW5sAXoKdwpPSonmNKXPjHsdcDJBkS8S-kToGASn88hMzPyCXkx_-O4bEI4Vrk17qZn1IkteEzmw3eIRPVsuSabAxmjRGQqSYiMXPSzMvXHE-vX0Z6lGeuNAcnihXe-rdHbZEw/s1600/tonyjump.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ5mdcYPW5sAXoKdwpPSonmNKXPjHsdcDJBkS8S-kToGASn88hMzPyCXkx_-O4bEI4Vrk17qZn1IkteEzmw3eIRPVsuSabAxmjRGQqSYiMXPSzMvXHE-vX0Z6lGeuNAcnihXe-rdHbZEw/s320/tonyjump.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5463489389371322802" /></a><br />He spends half his time jumping into my lap to be pet.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt_vH2TS-QYSTuhCBZMU5Xjf04pzmJDIub5EpQqtbuwSPQfF-V9fX11a4hhU-8CYEIK8vBMSuLHLoLE7KeQF2LSbuzhgMzEbdzcMdfzKsjK6JefQBfNdmsH6jPE5VKi-56q9aYP-SRdf4/s1600/sneakychickens.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt_vH2TS-QYSTuhCBZMU5Xjf04pzmJDIub5EpQqtbuwSPQfF-V9fX11a4hhU-8CYEIK8vBMSuLHLoLE7KeQF2LSbuzhgMzEbdzcMdfzKsjK6JefQBfNdmsH6jPE5VKi-56q9aYP-SRdf4/s320/sneakychickens.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5463488813342052226" /></a><br />Mom, these are the chickens that snuck past me while I was on the phone with you. They lay two eggs. I gave them to my family, the next night they made me two fried eggs for dinner: what goes around comes around!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSCl62pPGdtgQq6gIFzbft9ptJqdHJfVn4N4de3jaAGyzFL4D3H2Rix5zEyRwtWtQiI330_PzRwegesSslSrl6YzPoHl9-o1p6QXWqc1pgeb9Mi5Uf3eGW4tH2cHJhzq-Rm9ygTgpof6s/s1600/people.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSCl62pPGdtgQq6gIFzbft9ptJqdHJfVn4N4de3jaAGyzFL4D3H2Rix5zEyRwtWtQiI330_PzRwegesSslSrl6YzPoHl9-o1p6QXWqc1pgeb9Mi5Uf3eGW4tH2cHJhzq-Rm9ygTgpof6s/s320/people.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5463488810287728402" /></a><br />My people in the city! Who I spend most of my time with in my second life.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTg9Xlhq92C87ff25Y-nDijJqGLdBwaiWJ_tpM3Nf2cROilXKVwUrEgdIArbySV8s_uJcjjNmT_jdptRAKLfwNP_P5Y0lPaDjqSwAUX8rIyWZ4I4e-L6YDEEXIpo88jsw6Lt4s9zFSX2o/s1600/mandarins!.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTg9Xlhq92C87ff25Y-nDijJqGLdBwaiWJ_tpM3Nf2cROilXKVwUrEgdIArbySV8s_uJcjjNmT_jdptRAKLfwNP_P5Y0lPaDjqSwAUX8rIyWZ4I4e-L6YDEEXIpo88jsw6Lt4s9zFSX2o/s320/mandarins!.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5463488802657504914" /></a><br />The mandarins growing outside my house are now ripe and delicious!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDc7ARsgqLlpW9uLucXFjBifaix5Hpjho8kA4nDiTZdjxZfFKGuMU20uEq-4JL0xNzMP4rjojZZ9tZaJUolaM-apPbBvX0Y4rLB94U2-BhyV69_YQzkcNM0q20pb4QucTfG6y4pxPKPF8/s1600/kendalandI.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDc7ARsgqLlpW9uLucXFjBifaix5Hpjho8kA4nDiTZdjxZfFKGuMU20uEq-4JL0xNzMP4rjojZZ9tZaJUolaM-apPbBvX0Y4rLB94U2-BhyV69_YQzkcNM0q20pb4QucTfG6y4pxPKPF8/s320/kendalandI.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5463488797401288290" /></a><br />Me and Kendall on a date that was crashed by 6 others during training, more time in the city!Jesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16330489032376443212noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4714625040808772132.post-68945050286417797892010-04-08T05:48:00.003-06:002010-04-11T09:22:46.992-06:00Chipa´s weather powersAs I sweltered in the heat, in the sun, and in the shade about two weeks, I was told “Just wait until after Semana Santa… its like, we make chipa and its hot, and then after we finish the chipa, it gets cold.” As I sat trying to drink enough terere to compensate for the water leaving my body despite my sitting in the shade, I laughed off the idea.<br /> Then I proceeded to make a ton of chipa, and eat far too much as well. Semana Santa is Easter week in Latin America. In Ecuador this means large parades and church visits, I’ve heard that in Argentina this means fancy vacations to mountain towns… In Paraguay, Semana Santa means tons and tons of chipa, a bit of sopa paraguaya, and various types of grilled, freshly slaughtered, meats. With school and work off, the end of the week is left free for cooking festivities. Wednesday afternoon my family and I mixed the corn flour, mandioca flour, milk, eggs, cheese, and pig fat to make over 100 pieces of chipa. Thursday I helped another family mix the same ingredients, but with more milk and onions, to make sopa to be cooking in the ta-ta-kua (or large circular brick oven) with the sopa. Friday I worked on eating all of the sopa and chipa that everyone had given me. By Saturday and Sunday, Easter celebration is pretty much over around these parts (yes its ironic), but there is still chipa.<br /> As I continued to receive chipa from almost every household (and hid the sour chipa made with rotten cheese…), the chipa became drier and drier, and I continued sweating in the heat. And then I finished my chipa… and honestly… it got freaking cold. No lie.<br /> I still like chipa (a rarity among my volunteer friends here), but I will now eat it in amazement at its power. I have never experienced a more rapid temperature change in my life. I went from sleeping with my fan on, no sheets, to being slightly cold under my sheets, a snuggie, and in my sleeping bag. The sun still burns, but the shade now gives you chills. Easter has passed up north, and surely Spring has sprung. The Chipa for Easter week in Paraguay has O-pa’d (finished, Guarani), and winter is blowing in.<br /> For now I keep busy in my fleece pants and sweatshirts (wondering what I am going to wear when it “Really gets cold”) by presenting a cow nutrition charla with my friend Jordan, and cleaning and preparing the school garden with students and families. Next week I’m headed back to the training ground for Guarani and technical classes. On the activity list for my free day in Asuncion: actively seeking out the very fuzzy tiger blanket my training family had. Winter without heat in a non-insulated house, with or without snow, is going to be an interesting venture.<br /><br />Now, some photos:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-JcIde8CgDD2hy39Q0KANCEO94Ii8uGnlJIzpWVYdBSS1PERnm47lbUvXeWHhUs9Hzm93tfNKjelVIxEN3fLAN8PXpCeJIr19PJ1x9ASkRzZblMSyVrLRDiNhlSu890zrfllR_lL0gsA/s1600/ChipaDone.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-JcIde8CgDD2hy39Q0KANCEO94Ii8uGnlJIzpWVYdBSS1PERnm47lbUvXeWHhUs9Hzm93tfNKjelVIxEN3fLAN8PXpCeJIr19PJ1x9ASkRzZblMSyVrLRDiNhlSu890zrfllR_lL0gsA/s320/ChipaDone.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5457732491775700882" /></a><br />This is the chipa, done, all of it fresh out of the ta-ta-kuaa!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcHQmoSZKOcj7TGbgc62kOey3YVbg5qmLu5fKDlOiNXM4_kpMRBUXK8U7AKqDDd7VGpJdIJtvUNj0ievLKERDuDxLLuaKk5SKuFCBrqmMeL7OTMWgzWZHpVo5E8bWSaNjD40p6jhIvWBs/s1600/ReadyforOven.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcHQmoSZKOcj7TGbgc62kOey3YVbg5qmLu5fKDlOiNXM4_kpMRBUXK8U7AKqDDd7VGpJdIJtvUNj0ievLKERDuDxLLuaKk5SKuFCBrqmMeL7OTMWgzWZHpVo5E8bWSaNjD40p6jhIvWBs/s320/ReadyforOven.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5457732482494057106" /></a><br />Formed, by hand, and ready to go in the oven. I grew bored of creating diamonds and made everyone in my family their initials in chipa... they loved it.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTudbgfWdJeBK2jr0eHlB52FlYXG1hSJ16wpsHIkxRfEZziNXT_gb1NQCKOaGgPh2GA3M_IYtNfmEdY0uFf-VGN40b8qJZ5Kl4yPihZ-u2IcFdl0isjwIy5XNwgDz6NzTdEUKoF8ol6sQ/s1600/chipamaking.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTudbgfWdJeBK2jr0eHlB52FlYXG1hSJ16wpsHIkxRfEZziNXT_gb1NQCKOaGgPh2GA3M_IYtNfmEdY0uFf-VGN40b8qJZ5Kl4yPihZ-u2IcFdl0isjwIy5XNwgDz6NzTdEUKoF8ol6sQ/s320/chipamaking.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5457732477363434866" /></a><br />Mixing it all by hand with my mom and her sister.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv2ouvY3ICk23UUyMj9gxsNA1ouhl22IC4t9GHwv6mDOE2Ee6UfGaBR9lcgZu8gMvtusDKO6nxQUxQJNv-FMnT8gS2mPahj8Rs3An1D9EH76jEX4lpnZFrHZ0eoNNfXMCilUlSxq31Jn4/s1600/bullfight.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv2ouvY3ICk23UUyMj9gxsNA1ouhl22IC4t9GHwv6mDOE2Ee6UfGaBR9lcgZu8gMvtusDKO6nxQUxQJNv-FMnT8gS2mPahj8Rs3An1D9EH76jEX4lpnZFrHZ0eoNNfXMCilUlSxq31Jn4/s320/bullfight.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5457732467071481570" /></a><br />The bullfight we walked to one saturday night, it was interesting, and not so fun to walk home at 3 am afterwards...<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimXdtj85q8F45fL0eSFuf74jAUd6B0fOI3vPXYGjB1S_3bxWp4f94-XIfRwh2WNVTeol68DFGnSqvOSrSCMqRvYsSAn_F1uZjQNlXnVTC2ehV0fW6gwxaRNvPg-KXnNxwrm48RGkpigQs/s1600/babies!.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimXdtj85q8F45fL0eSFuf74jAUd6B0fOI3vPXYGjB1S_3bxWp4f94-XIfRwh2WNVTeol68DFGnSqvOSrSCMqRvYsSAn_F1uZjQNlXnVTC2ehV0fW6gwxaRNvPg-KXnNxwrm48RGkpigQs/s320/babies!.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5457732462923024962" /></a><br />Baby pigs born the night before! And Tony, my puppy, bigger now, and really wanting to play with the pigs next to them.Jesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16330489032376443212noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4714625040808772132.post-58904953438045164422010-04-08T05:46:00.001-06:002010-04-08T05:48:14.736-06:00Fotos for last post<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDFfTOZjzVKc-h2zTbypZVT33dMAs4ZWDdSI3LCPKISKJy8pS7_BYMx7WqTLC0qDuPK3ndhI6ZlmWf1sJwyWqh3diC8mDCuIfP8g32mnWFkggZyiYyUy9AAHo5K0AFY6ZNXv9nOZ6vK6Y/s1600/PearBread.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDFfTOZjzVKc-h2zTbypZVT33dMAs4ZWDdSI3LCPKISKJy8pS7_BYMx7WqTLC0qDuPK3ndhI6ZlmWf1sJwyWqh3diC8mDCuIfP8g32mnWFkggZyiYyUy9AAHo5K0AFY6ZNXv9nOZ6vK6Y/s320/PearBread.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5457732009126914034" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0TT3KCmXnPnZNvrJUMIfBgFLvB4Qqi4uZS48CntQmVULnx1mhGRytiMsQzjQy-mJpc7d2ROBWT2_nIgR5vAUlELt6WHxcwLCB0-x6OlzK85JQoSyecQzxY790OvO0fFFwZlLcNEHek-o/s1600/classroom.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 226px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0TT3KCmXnPnZNvrJUMIfBgFLvB4Qqi4uZS48CntQmVULnx1mhGRytiMsQzjQy-mJpc7d2ROBWT2_nIgR5vAUlELt6WHxcwLCB0-x6OlzK85JQoSyecQzxY790OvO0fFFwZlLcNEHek-o/s320/classroom.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5457731998268221378" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRSvBGSd4NhFyKiezOcpfy7ivst4uVnOkhjfQl71HNGLLQf6JjMzBRMU8gs6CTwZ6YJng-GK3N1CC3NGIbqMokzUFAGdYpPHV3J45NAGGl5gMVxWeCMZtdc5XKqAGSWM1iN4p05q7OrIc/s1600/burritomaking.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRSvBGSd4NhFyKiezOcpfy7ivst4uVnOkhjfQl71HNGLLQf6JjMzBRMU8gs6CTwZ6YJng-GK3N1CC3NGIbqMokzUFAGdYpPHV3J45NAGGl5gMVxWeCMZtdc5XKqAGSWM1iN4p05q7OrIc/s320/burritomaking.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5457731996461896306" /></a>Jesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16330489032376443212noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4714625040808772132.post-50015187192658898562010-03-27T05:50:00.002-06:002010-03-27T06:01:23.723-06:00The Working LifeTalking from people from home, many have asked me what my job here is. Unlike in the US, my job here is hard to define, and to be honest, it’s a rough question to ground on a skype or phone call. Truth is, the job of the Peace Corps volunteer, no matter where, is hard to define, it contains no specific outlines, can consist of physical labor, talking, or simple smiles, and depends as much on the volunteer as the people in their site and circumstances as incontrollable as the weather. <br /> So what is my job here? Peace Corps gives us three goals. First; provide technical assistance to those who need it, second and third to learn about their culture, and to teach the people here about our culture. Basically, simply living in the community accomplishes the second two. They include visiting families, drinking terere under mango trees to avoid the burning Paraguayan sun, exchanging stories, swapping eggs for lessons on making banana bread, or teaching a family how to make a Mexican burrito (here burrito is a plant you put in tea). It’s a cultural exchange, and it’s a growing understanding between people, its also probably what I spend most of my time doing.<br /> The first goal is harder. Peace Corps provides training, but assigns no specific project on which to apply our skills. Technically, I am an agriculture extensionist, and so, on a specific scale, my technical training should be applied to restoring fields through lessons on green manures, crop rotation, direct seeding… etc. My recent official technical work includes assisting in a community census of peoples crops to encourage a potential community seed bank, working with families to plan their gardens and help them get the gardens started, and giving garden talks and beginning a community garden at the local elementary school. <br /> However, our jobs are not limited to technicalities. In reality I would describe my job as doing anything I can to help make the lives and futures of Paraguayans a little better, a little easier, a little brighter. A recent list of my work would therefore include having to tell a family their might have to re-dig the beautifully done and very deep new latrine pit right next to their garden plot in a different place to avoid vegetable contamination and potential spread of illnesses throughout their family, organizing a “cow day” with another volunteer to teach the women’s committee how to feed and water cows sufficiently in the winter to optimize milk production, and my weekly English class that has become quite a hit due to my lollipop rewards for participation. <br /> I essentially have to make my own work, and while it can be hard, it’s the people that make it rewarding. They are often so excited that I helped them hoe their garden that its insisted that I walk home with a not-so-small squash in hand. Its for the people that I recently convinced Peace Corps to let me take not one, but two community representatives to a project design management workshop in May… beyond all of my work here, I have a personal goal (one I know Peace Corps would support) to make the presence or a volunteer here unnecessary, to teach the community of its own capability, and to encourage these great people to exploit their own ability to promote their own community development.<br /> I hope that helps those of you who wonder what I am doing here. Its hard work at times, living alone and surrounded by lofty development goals, and I am sure that may lead to me sounding down at times, but boy, when sitting under a mango tree surrounded by the laughter and awes of amazement that lima beans exist in both places but roads close in the States due to snow rather than rain, while eating delicious creamy corn bread, its hard not to smile and take a deep breath of contentment at my work here, and the amazing job I get to not only do, but experience completely.Jesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16330489032376443212noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4714625040808772132.post-59903380609773920582010-03-14T11:10:00.006-06:002010-03-17T07:53:59.877-06:00Movin' Out... and In!Peace Corps Paraguay has a rule that each volunteer must live with a Paraguayan family for three months upon their arrival in their new site. This sounds like a short period of time, but when added to the three months already spent with a family during training, and the total loss of control that moving in with a family causes over your own life (I do enjoy Paraguayan food, but I also enjoy vegetables....) moving out is pretty freaking exciting.<br /> When I first got to my new site they told me there were no houses to rent. They were not lying, but somehow I became friends with the right people, and one of my favorite families offered me a deal: I finish building their modern bathroom in their little house in exchange for rent, and they will move next door to grandpa's house for the next two years (they each actually have more rooms now next door). I agreed.<br /> Building the bathroom was a bit of a pain, with people promising and falling through, but at last, and with too much help from my wonderful community contact, it was done, and I moved in (after helping the family out and sweeping out many many spiders) on Monday, with the help of my new puppy! His name is Tony (not my choice, Paraguayans names him, I'm not psyched... but its too late, and my family loves it here). He is super sweet, loyal, soft, and unfortunately loves to eat cow poop and my shoes (but we are working hard on training).<br /> So I hope you enjoy the photos of my new puppy, and the tour of my house. Living alone has made all the difference. I go to the super market, I control my own food intake, and I have my own space to clean, organize and do what I want. Its lovely.Now I am taking a brief trip to Asuncion to celebrate birthdays and grab some abonos verdes (green manure) seeds to plant with some members of the committee in hopes of improving the soil in town. Soon I will also plant my own little garden, and seeds will be purchased this trip. Thank you all for your birthday wishes! I will post more on work and my life alone next time around. Love, Jess<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc8nRL7UYonsmEQY1izn3bJAzUKdBg9VLHT4_9W06aAf5knSK9wIsr4Zrn-hqNjX61PlAhNrxvOfqisfxlaVGZ6yvjiWsDRudrcVuAZ-agK2a_i0gyw5lWi3rlvINHdsYUszb9sPw2IJ0/s1600-h/P1040705.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc8nRL7UYonsmEQY1izn3bJAzUKdBg9VLHT4_9W06aAf5knSK9wIsr4Zrn-hqNjX61PlAhNrxvOfqisfxlaVGZ6yvjiWsDRudrcVuAZ-agK2a_i0gyw5lWi3rlvINHdsYUszb9sPw2IJ0/s320/P1040705.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5449598851785627378" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSCJMTkyaw4y3TmwImVEpzmiaWA-fH7zDvzI7IMDf8W1G-O-Yqm9sAh5TReRp98K-djnb3Z_j7foTJwXQA5yNEDQicArj9aETolLQncCYfOmFRX21_Uy1jXgOPq149_VqSWaeKrsXJ8Pw/s1600-h/P1040714.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSCJMTkyaw4y3TmwImVEpzmiaWA-fH7zDvzI7IMDf8W1G-O-Yqm9sAh5TReRp98K-djnb3Z_j7foTJwXQA5yNEDQicArj9aETolLQncCYfOmFRX21_Uy1jXgOPq149_VqSWaeKrsXJ8Pw/s320/P1040714.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5449598864421096482" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSJBSbvInbUlXbByzyc1N2CTOg5TpeFjXmDabcvI_yuDJeBIxLt_trzUe05EWKqlnWceYdzNhO3XSzqziavuOpicG86Ml63GrzTTWSMyH0120qV8gWXaasHJrLzgyM8NQAdRkVHZi2WWU/s1600-h/P1040716.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSJBSbvInbUlXbByzyc1N2CTOg5TpeFjXmDabcvI_yuDJeBIxLt_trzUe05EWKqlnWceYdzNhO3XSzqziavuOpicG86Ml63GrzTTWSMyH0120qV8gWXaasHJrLzgyM8NQAdRkVHZi2WWU/s320/P1040716.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5449598874878067666" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA3SyZtdQ7o2bszR-mB0NF7oke6UpRieH3-471OB7QDgD2RYNEVDwtotDjp9ZwD9i_CpKvXQ8lcTRgGIdkku0Xx_wZ2kKA9cdCHexR3-kNKct3y1fInutN97YBO_XHQ1uNeSL_G1ggox8/s1600-h/P1040719.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA3SyZtdQ7o2bszR-mB0NF7oke6UpRieH3-471OB7QDgD2RYNEVDwtotDjp9ZwD9i_CpKvXQ8lcTRgGIdkku0Xx_wZ2kKA9cdCHexR3-kNKct3y1fInutN97YBO_XHQ1uNeSL_G1ggox8/s320/P1040719.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5449598887923472066" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsNSyXO0MhoOsokfzW4YJZ6dA-udd1lBSkvwIG4uvZRUCkvRSEywH60qjaruc8coTA-11iuweUpdWMVBvA9j36wg5JYpVpj65h5WhLIW0a_spus705N5XNE-1cWvwmuJURB_xWMWxuHY8/s1600-h/P1040703.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsNSyXO0MhoOsokfzW4YJZ6dA-udd1lBSkvwIG4uvZRUCkvRSEywH60qjaruc8coTA-11iuweUpdWMVBvA9j36wg5JYpVpj65h5WhLIW0a_spus705N5XNE-1cWvwmuJURB_xWMWxuHY8/s320/P1040703.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5448539670927311970" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7KtFqjJsjtl28sZZp-55M-eJRU-uutIO3523YChyphenhyphenK6xcZNztkhUvCdHX0ocKV3f582EX2pRbao22Yz6_8bf203Ufut7s5AYn8FYZvgATRKTw3RWMjroRZAI5ptu7u1uoZaSwM3UTqx-s/s1600-h/P1040713.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7KtFqjJsjtl28sZZp-55M-eJRU-uutIO3523YChyphenhyphenK6xcZNztkhUvCdHX0ocKV3f582EX2pRbao22Yz6_8bf203Ufut7s5AYn8FYZvgATRKTw3RWMjroRZAI5ptu7u1uoZaSwM3UTqx-s/s320/P1040713.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5448539685163811394" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI0hE-0g7Jo0nmyOS6S_BKVcCfIfIt7n8bjQE1oFC4VZfJKowFxNbyhPF5TFfZvbqZRwkOuF6bTJzSBQw9jvPdbHKVsM5435MkaBYsEuXyWyO5iepD4OhSxSons29JY5ebNYJdd7B0QqM/s1600-h/P1040694.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI0hE-0g7Jo0nmyOS6S_BKVcCfIfIt7n8bjQE1oFC4VZfJKowFxNbyhPF5TFfZvbqZRwkOuF6bTJzSBQw9jvPdbHKVsM5435MkaBYsEuXyWyO5iepD4OhSxSons29JY5ebNYJdd7B0QqM/s320/P1040694.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5448539657023136946" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMj6Ag2FWn2uJFjXficIMWUOCsK6mUUGCCqgbLrQ36kNVYTlTaNcj3fyK3BgP0fhVUMqq5eku8GPnb3TGtY_zkmEZ7Me4mr08QNPAPzGO0jYD30_ynQSfOx3zDSJls8QVnVtg2OS2SCGY/s1600-h/P1040690.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMj6Ag2FWn2uJFjXficIMWUOCsK6mUUGCCqgbLrQ36kNVYTlTaNcj3fyK3BgP0fhVUMqq5eku8GPnb3TGtY_zkmEZ7Me4mr08QNPAPzGO0jYD30_ynQSfOx3zDSJls8QVnVtg2OS2SCGY/s320/P1040690.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5448539643781538274" border="0" /></a>Jesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16330489032376443212noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4714625040808772132.post-5897373407475011172010-03-10T05:41:00.007-07:002010-03-10T06:11:38.105-07:00Some thoughts at last...<div><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 240px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5446987958174786610" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkhWW1qaA6qbyLMb5LKCeb7jb8mxJmo7yhNzVt4KQfaWTEctfdn8QJXsQCPTzxXax65r01UQHBRMwB9XcI16VeS3gcLrSrmt_AnpxZ-Xj73G70hwBx1tmlsGARZB4yW7AHHa0ZI65f3TY/s320/familymeatshop.jpg" />I live in Paraguay. I am a Peace Corps volunteer. Sometimes you forget this while here. I have a job with little regulation, huge goals, and a contract that seems like forever and no time at all simultaneously. It can be overwhleming at times. Its a lofty situation, one full of moments of amazement, contentment, frustration, excitement, happiness, sadness, deep thoughts, and once in a while a realization that this is all real- this is my life... for the next 22 months at least.<br /><br /><div><div><div>And then I take a deep breath and try to embrade it. Some experiences lead inevitably to me wondering what the heck I am doing here, like when I flipped over my bike due to a Paraguayan fetish for overgreasing EVERYTHING, or when I offer to give a simple paper charla, or presentation and am <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieYO_uRSaBkdeGUuOHpdSRtd0RtIyEy5w-ilfGMLEUZuPKJoYrOFwzUsKlbriZ9ytMdBebUZRoqX9ViRZ1-RmABeyMZw-HStnTWJJpVVEEHQx5gPbSe8PdJI6dqkAjyZkc8J7sle6kXkM/s1600-h/meatshop.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5446989001583447762" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieYO_uRSaBkdeGUuOHpdSRtd0RtIyEy5w-ilfGMLEUZuPKJoYrOFwzUsKlbriZ9ytMdBebUZRoqX9ViRZ1-RmABeyMZw-HStnTWJJpVVEEHQx5gPbSe8PdJI6dqkAjyZkc8J7sle6kXkM/s320/meatshop.jpg" /></a>told that the ag ministry is already going to give a talk with powerpoint... But maybe its just because I am a cup half'full person, or perhaps because I am easily entertained, I try to focus on finding myself in happy awe of my situation.</div><br /><br /><div>I am living in Paraguay. I recently aquired a puppy and my own house (fotos to come next post I promise!) Things are not that different here. I buy most of my fod at the super market. I play volleyball and soccer. I meet new people, and would like to think I am making friends. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLwUXhi7ovq2ojGtf223VlLou2Yg0tTDRgERkD_WMidyPSzF8E-il9niEhm1qHDM1NQ5vOFr4V4E9heCAcE_KX0mZh-Hr-nDC7ZM2SHqPIWGuNWPs5ux-bX2jabSr9fVefRjvzeDKUnuY/s1600-h/bullfrog.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 298px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5446989232491688114" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLwUXhi7ovq2ojGtf223VlLou2Yg0tTDRgERkD_WMidyPSzF8E-il9niEhm1qHDM1NQ5vOFr4V4E9heCAcE_KX0mZh-Hr-nDC7ZM2SHqPIWGuNWPs5ux-bX2jabSr9fVefRjvzeDKUnuY/s320/bullfrog.jpg" /></a>Sometimes I am surprised by how open these new people are to working with and knowing me, the strange blond girl who moved in down the road, and sometimes I am reminded that they are also confused and simply human (my initial host family once cheated me out of a gifted pack of 24 eggs... a rough reminder that generosity has its limits=. I still gawk like a tourist at times when the funny things do happen. Like the portable meat store... where my family bought a kilo of tongue (fortunately my guarani includes being able to say I do not know how to eat things like that... my cultural assimilation has its limits...)</div><br /><br /><div>So even in hard times, like dealing with losing trust in some of the people in town, I have this simple fact: I am living in Paraguay. There are ups and downs, and being out in the middle of nowhere with no concrete understanding of the world around me, everything is exaggerated. But <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6IAfjC85Z4oj5zvtskJm9T_2r6URm1dd4_uYMWoq55quXRIP9sUzF3EV8fxC3WCVJqzpYNmF8Is_4hXhESY4UaCOR_DHelPIvnQ2lkNo4FvpHpELulyAa1BmB-sinOZgPy-1TtixvOf4/s1600-h/mecarpincho.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5446991862907082738" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6IAfjC85Z4oj5zvtskJm9T_2r6URm1dd4_uYMWoq55quXRIP9sUzF3EV8fxC3WCVJqzpYNmF8Is_4hXhESY4UaCOR_DHelPIvnQ2lkNo4FvpHpELulyAa1BmB-sinOZgPy-1TtixvOf4/s320/mecarpincho.jpg" /></a>I am living in Paraguay, and that itself keeps me going. I am meeting new people, I am teaching English, how to make your own yogurt, about gardening and potential latrine contamination, and I am learning, not only about Paraguay but about life itself. Amidst all of this I get to frequently pet Carpinchos, something that I feel I should do frequently because that will definitely only last for the next 22 months.</div><br /><br /><div>So I hope you enjoy the little adventures of my Paraguayan life. I have only a little time to post things online, but know that each post is a snippet of an amazing, overwhelming, and never-ending combination of events that have become my life. </div></div></div></div>Jesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16330489032376443212noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4714625040808772132.post-21745741263835047002010-02-05T12:20:00.006-07:002010-02-05T12:37:52.093-07:00Mud...Slides?Time flies by. I blink and it’s February. It’s hot, it’s very hot. The mandioca leaves curl inward <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigtfjFUG1i_YgWhb-tcPcBGCFpG06Fs3yqlHvGLBd85HWL_QoZ6v06sN_EFVwcYDYyoZhQhjBC1s97oVw2bNB1RBVGMKiBIy1_FTj7nUKI-hzSSzk0OIqDDnKiEoIYUPRAFIqv752qQyI/s1600-h/muddyroad1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigtfjFUG1i_YgWhb-tcPcBGCFpG06Fs3yqlHvGLBd85HWL_QoZ6v06sN_EFVwcYDYyoZhQhjBC1s97oVw2bNB1RBVGMKiBIy1_FTj7nUKI-hzSSzk0OIqDDnKiEoIYUPRAFIqv752qQyI/s320/muddyroad1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5434842824082417298" border="0" /></a>protecting themselves from the blaring sun and gusting winds that splashes the famous red soil on everything. Hard to believe that only two weeks ago I couldn’t go running for fear of mud slides… now I stay running in the fields to avoid coloring my eyeballs some shade of red.<br /> <br />The past few weeks in Paraguay I have learned a lot about myself. Living in new circumstances always teaches you things. What I spent the first 2 weeks in site learning about myself is that all of the grace I thought I had, I may lack, although <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLQhFxymoTGgvog6Lfw-RtS6OJFJcE7XRbXD3Orv9xOSsKj0PPzmmvVbiU3cAUPTMKfOilb6vdtmYgIeNteETpeVx7wYkWuxRWb-r7Ln9TAn8YHL4G2-QmpdwxEkZjPJpMDSPU7uPQgPY/s1600-h/muddyroad2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLQhFxymoTGgvog6Lfw-RtS6OJFJcE7XRbXD3Orv9xOSsKj0PPzmmvVbiU3cAUPTMKfOilb6vdtmYgIeNteETpeVx7wYkWuxRWb-r7Ln9TAn8YHL4G2-QmpdwxEkZjPJpMDSPU7uPQgPY/s320/muddyroad2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5434844395472830194" border="0" /></a>I like to think that Paraguay makes it impossible for it to shine through. Despite what the general person may think of people in developing countries, Paraguayans are impeccably clean people. This meaning, they shower generally more than twice a day, wash their clothes often, and even wash their shoes about once a week, or as soon as it looks like the red tint starts to settle in.<br /><br />I have discovered that I, on the other hand, while generally a clean person, am often willing to take some short cuts when the cleanliness factor requires hours scrubbing my clothes with a brush in the hot sun. I do, however, shower, and wash my clothes enough so that the red stains fade to pink. Mostly, Paraguayans have forgiven me for this. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRrzS0BjBVj05etTiF3O_oCiJVgjrRDuCOXdgyycT3HpRKFP7SY7ECtgXNDjdZvMs9rbwZs9Q_he7ksuzTDqdQcvflCaJDgCD3CYlhJ6SnucnxTdbMN-_e787ozhf5R4wdkK6Py-mNNgc/s1600-h/river.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRrzS0BjBVj05etTiF3O_oCiJVgjrRDuCOXdgyycT3HpRKFP7SY7ECtgXNDjdZvMs9rbwZs9Q_he7ksuzTDqdQcvflCaJDgCD3CYlhJ6SnucnxTdbMN-_e787ozhf5R4wdkK6Py-mNNgc/s320/river.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5434844968925272322" border="0" /></a><br /><br />The one thing they cannot seem to understand about me is how my feet are always dirty. As a Peace Corps Volunteer, one of the largest parts of my job is to go visit families, and so, I often spend twenty minutes walking down the bright red dirt roads in flip flops (to fit in), and therefore arrive with red-tinted feet. They tend to laugh at them, ask how that happened, and then make me wash them.<br /><br />What I don’t understand is how this does not happen to Paraguayans. I do not walk recklessly, I am not sticking my feet in piles of dirt to fling them into the air, nor picking it in my hands and rubbing it in, but even when I walk on the most solid section, wind comes and blows dirt, which then sticks on my sweaty feet. Even when the dust is low, as it was two weeks ago when it rained heavily, my situation seems worse. The famous red dirt becomes the most slippery layer of mud you have ever seen, and by the time I have slipped and slid down the road, at the very least the sides of my feet are caked in the newly formed road clay. Then too, they laugh and lead me to a trough to clean them.<br /><br />And yet daily, Paraguayans manage without dirtying their feet. I know I am here for cultural exchange, but even with all my practice, I fear this is a skill I will never master. Perhaps its my lack of grace, or the natural world spiting me as I walk, or perhaps (especially when its muddy)<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKlSqDZpH2gtIqUNwWUXtchgXQifuNMiSQ1pngU-di1UFjzU5WPrA-FOMeeSvIOutMjrzMHpK_cxbehr_RKPN5b1-hScPY_BNnML2DergAnClEWdjrHQq7vfFBxV-v6w72UEDTFwUSGc8/s1600-h/meandcarpinchos.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKlSqDZpH2gtIqUNwWUXtchgXQifuNMiSQ1pngU-di1UFjzU5WPrA-FOMeeSvIOutMjrzMHpK_cxbehr_RKPN5b1-hScPY_BNnML2DergAnClEWdjrHQq7vfFBxV-v6w72UEDTFwUSGc8/s320/meandcarpinchos.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5434844639594760290" border="0" /></a> its that little part of me that loves to be dirty, and that secretly wishes it were culturally appropriate for me to treat the main road as the gigantic, fairly well groomed mud-slide that it is after it rains.<br /><br />And since its been so long since I have posted I have included photos of petting the Carpinchos in my nearest town (Villarica)… and yes, it is true they feel like a broom… And of my family in the river in Itape, where we spent one whole hot Sunday lounging about in the heat, and where, once again, I seemed to be the only one to arrive back home with sand stuck to my feet. Oh well.Jesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16330489032376443212noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4714625040808772132.post-25001673428625642002010-01-15T11:41:00.010-07:002010-01-15T12:06:14.112-07:00Riding in Carts behind Cows<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjJFkNsc-IeO5z6ZQorzzmTaB7HN9cDmwBoyRNoR_0QbHtFItxiJ9nvX6HqychFDq1HQXhgB3CWFQ6kwzrFcCAb93sp_frYTYUl_ajZiJXjgL4bA5LPrV6iAR2HmEm9y1Qk8VgSaqBNcE/s1600-h/Plowing.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjJFkNsc-IeO5z6ZQorzzmTaB7HN9cDmwBoyRNoR_0QbHtFItxiJ9nvX6HqychFDq1HQXhgB3CWFQ6kwzrFcCAb93sp_frYTYUl_ajZiJXjgL4bA5LPrV6iAR2HmEm9y1Qk8VgSaqBNcE/s320/Plowing.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5427039382411192674" border="0" /></a> Its my first day in the fields. I awake at 530 AM for the mate that is supposed to be had, should have figured that a 530 wake up call would be Paraguayan time. At 550 we commence mate, and at 600 I head to the fields. I arrive only to sit down to yet another meal. My plate piled high with corn and cheese mash and a large side of Mandio. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjuSb899GiqJ3vIhw4XFd5CrlINAUDwQ9lqnDn4WqOKUzjyC0rYMqhYp5yWNG88duoW7hQYTSVQjPOi7z1QMI8tLwgt88a-i0-PlndrTF8wKHUmm_qnEu-Rpik0YCpMxwWkj8osciTLC0/s1600-h/BestRide.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjuSb899GiqJ3vIhw4XFd5CrlINAUDwQ9lqnDn4WqOKUzjyC0rYMqhYp5yWNG88duoW7hQYTSVQjPOi7z1QMI8tLwgt88a-i0-PlndrTF8wKHUmm_qnEu-Rpik0YCpMxwWkj8osciTLC0/s320/BestRide.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5427039495243789698" border="0" /></a>¨You need to eat like a man,¨ they say, then laugh, ¨today you´re doing the man´s work.¨<br /> And its true, culturally, working in fields, or at least the clearing of the field with an ox plow is pretty much limited to men. Somehow my foreign presence breaks the boundry. We head out to the field´s, cart full of cow manure and a plow towed behind. Soon I find myself bracing the plow against the pull of the cows, make it straight. Despite the wavyness my work is applauded. ¨Nde vale,¨ exclaims in awe the owner of the ox cart, ¨Nde Guapa.¨ I can do it, he says, I am hard working.<br /> We spend the next four hours filling in the newly made lines with bucket'fulls of manure. The sun breaks through the clouds and the heat increases the intensity of the work. My arms are numb, but it is nice. A new sort of work, fullfilling. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhicVk1EaMU3xx7mlnggN3FQeVLEV5MXpvRutey-uwzQfAZHEg94ciE_qLjTsxbe68sZr0i9NF4NBvpeCLnWvkF2uOWCqBkj6krCKz7PI1W9XgGTzn2OfBrQqNyIPzklUYoVfGs0XbPz5w/s1600-h/Toby.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 250px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhicVk1EaMU3xx7mlnggN3FQeVLEV5MXpvRutey-uwzQfAZHEg94ciE_qLjTsxbe68sZr0i9NF4NBvpeCLnWvkF2uOWCqBkj6krCKz7PI1W9XgGTzn2OfBrQqNyIPzklUYoVfGs0XbPz5w/s320/Toby.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5427039167290689250" border="0" /></a>In a few months we should have corn in the field. I have plans to make chipa guasu, or fresh corn bread with cheese, with the farmer´s wife. Finally its done. Twelve lines carved and filled with manure. Tomorrow, they say, we´ll plant. ¨Koaga, jaterere.¨Now, we terere. After all my hard work, we head back to the house for the cold, fresh yerba. They let me ride in the back of the now empty ox cart.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicXBRHh0Q7EJI5HBB_S7x9UHiE_hUhFZ0d0ier8wM9rTwvzJk27rYCC69VfA74fwiFgAh5bbJsVdL0MpKokB5Lz2GzM5w7O2li0-qMw5MNkAr-n_1vWRYVbtxORQDkvpxKTYx6dQCTvws/s1600-h/House1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 219px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicXBRHh0Q7EJI5HBB_S7x9UHiE_hUhFZ0d0ier8wM9rTwvzJk27rYCC69VfA74fwiFgAh5bbJsVdL0MpKokB5Lz2GzM5w7O2li0-qMw5MNkAr-n_1vWRYVbtxORQDkvpxKTYx6dQCTvws/s320/House1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5427038974040426002" border="0" /></a> I debate being offended that they also tell the 11 year old to join me, but decide instead to revel in the view. It compares quite well, I decide, to the majestic moments one can experience in the back of open trucks.<br /> <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxzQROji8HLHp-qWgDTzdknWWr59ltWLEVaA8EVYnbrTpQlF2u4QflNpmfqTOcBTzAMweWyo1GbXhfu4KcnZQ2nbMsKL8mWFz9SNXX80IRZWDIc5zVGmHfCKTEdRvJP_PwsAhzFQ0-ShU/s1600-h/Room1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxzQROji8HLHp-qWgDTzdknWWr59ltWLEVaA8EVYnbrTpQlF2u4QflNpmfqTOcBTzAMweWyo1GbXhfu4KcnZQ2nbMsKL8mWFz9SNXX80IRZWDIc5zVGmHfCKTEdRvJP_PwsAhzFQ0-ShU/s320/Room1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5427038868737075346" border="0" /></a> My new site suits me. I am happy. I have a ton of work, and the community is amped. My family is incredible, my host dad (and community contact) taking time out of his day to work in the fields for random people with me so that it is culturally appropriate, and my youngest host brother is a doll. There is not a moment where Toby does not have everyone laughing. The following are photos from the new homestead. Toby, the house from the outside (it is actually a community house built by the chinese government in a project 5 years ago...my family lives in the office, I live in another room, and we have meetings in a big classroom). Followed by a photo of the view across the street and the entrance to my room.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5QmYhdc5s8XOH0mOMgXIEDc-EqWX6GaWdA6EJAzX3Sa0KIybjrcPEsJGh713xMwXABDH7TGObMcEi969Nt4hAv9e9BZN2pHom0bAXAq0jrfnKsltQG8kvVNZcpbFYjTkEaM0BsT_Z-XQ/s1600-h/NewView.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 304px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5QmYhdc5s8XOH0mOMgXIEDc-EqWX6GaWdA6EJAzX3Sa0KIybjrcPEsJGh713xMwXABDH7TGObMcEi969Nt4hAv9e9BZN2pHom0bAXAq0jrfnKsltQG8kvVNZcpbFYjTkEaM0BsT_Z-XQ/s320/NewView.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5427039258483162146" border="0" /></a><br /> Its a good situation, and I will enjoy my months here. Now, I must go research goats, the newly formed agriculture commitee is determined to begin a community goat project, and since I am american, they assume I know everything about goats. I have been assigned to present on all goat needs and care and nutrition and value of possible products on monday. I know nothing about goats, except I think I heard once of one that ate a shoe. But I will learn, and I will teach, and so begins my time as a volunteer at work.Jesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16330489032376443212noreply@blogger.com2