Mud...Slides?

Time flies by. I blink and it’s February. It’s hot, it’s very hot. The mandioca leaves curl inward 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.

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 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.

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.

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.

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.

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) 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.

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.

Riding in Carts behind Cows

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. ¨You need to eat like a man,¨ they say, then laugh, ¨today you´re doing the man´s work.¨
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.
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. 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. 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.


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.
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.

Obama (One who has moved)

Home again? Home at last? Who knows how to put it, but I have been moved. Conveniently, obama in guarani means one who has already moved, a word I can now use, and one that I always remember. Moving was a whirlwind experience. The security employee of Peace Corps was kind enough to drive me all the way to my old site to gather my things, and then take me to my new site. In the twenty minutes I had to pack at my old site, my neighbors and host family there made it clear that they thought I should stay. After all, I didn´t have an allergy, I must have had the reaction, they say, because I worked too hard on my first day, and showered when it was too hot out. A new belief nonetheless, but demonstrative of their wanting me to stay. If only I had eaten watermelon amidst the shower, then the entire Paraguayan country would say that my blood vessels exploded. But despite their greivences, I said goodbye and drove off.

My new site is located about 7 kilometers outside of Villa Rica. Its rural, on a dirt road, with beautiful mountain views, and the people I have met thus far have been amazing. They speak spanish, which is nice, because we can talk. But still rely heavily on Guarani, which means that hopefully I will successfully become tri'lingual in the next two years. I am living with a great family, who live in and take care of the community house. The house was actually built by a Chinese NGO about 5 years ago. They share a large room, there is a large classroom across the way, a decent sized storage room and a kitchen. After much lifting, moving, cleaning, sanding, re'painting and my host dad installing a ceiling fan for me, I am officially a resident of the storage room.

The community is pumped to have me, which is nice. They have a huge plan to begin a community goat farm and sell the products. First though, they must be able to raise enough pasto to feed the goats and still have enough land to raise food to live off of. Thus, we will be working together to teach crop rotation, crop partnering, and the use of green manures to restore the soil and get the needed things growing. Since my training in all of this was fairly brief (compared to my vast knowledge of now useless bee information) I have been spending a decent amount of time reading up on things. The long-term goal is really exciting though, and I am hoping I can be a big part of its success. But it will not be me alone, this afternoon an engineer is coming to help teach about pasto, and I will likely work heavily with her.

That's about all for now. My family is sweet, very protective, and fantastic. The kids are super sweet, including the little 1.5 year old Tobias. Its going to be weird to get used to being so near a town. This internet cafe is in a very fancy and complete super market! The town is also very near a German colony, so there are blond'haired blue-eyed paraguayans speaking German at my side as we speak.

Its going to be a different experience here, but I am excited. I will work to get up some pictures the next time I come to the big city. Jajotopata.

Irony

Its official, I am allergic to bees.

Ironic, after about 75 stings during my first three months that all lead to no reaction. But yesterday they pricked my arm with only a 10 cc mixture of venom and it swelled and my face got hot. I am now allergic.

This means that I will no longer be a beekeeping volunteer down here, and will likely join the agriculture group. Luckily I know them all pretty well and am pretty amped about promoting green manures, gardens, and crop partnerings, so its not too sad. I will also move sites, to one where there are fewer bees and closer to a hospital. No sure news on where-abouts yet, but I will likely hear everything on Monday when my boss returns from vacation.

Its going to be sad to leave my community. Peace Corps will take good care of me and provide a car to take me down and gather all my things. I currently am working on my vocabulary to explain that I will not be there for a while. Not sure I can tell my sweet host dad over the phone that I will actually never live there again.

But despite the bump in the road. I do realize the irony of my situation, and the comedic nature of it all. And in the mean time I have gotten to live in a hotel (its not as great as it seems), eat salad, meet a lot of people from other training groups, and most of all, have gotten ready mentally to begin what I hope will be an excellent service.

I'll let you all know what's happening when I know more.

An interesting Christmas

Rain.

At home rain means run to the car, throw on a jacket, or take off your shoes and enjoy. In Paraguay rain means do nothing, and the world may or may not run that day. During training while we remained on the American mindset, we had to walk to class in the turrential downpours, while our brothers and sisters slept in. When it rains in Paraguay, there is no school. Unfortunately when it rains in several parts of Paraguay, there are also no busses.

I did my best to get back to site for Christmas. I awoke at 5am, got to the terminal quickly, purchased a ticket and waited for the bus to come at 7:30. Only upon trying to enter, when the bus driver laughed at my ticket, did I find out that due to rain there would be no busses passing my site. I was stuck.

So, no Christmas in site. But a campo Christmas was a must. Conveniently, my friend Kendall was placed in a site only 4 hours from Asuncion and with constant bus service, so a few days later I headed out to see her.

I arrived not knowing what to expect, beneficial as the night to come never could have been imagined in my mind. After greetings, a terere session, and quick bucket bath, the three americans in town headed to church. Finding a seat under a fan we struggled through an odd service, and Kendall and I headed to the house of one of her favorite families in town. We arrived at 8:30 and sat in a circle, talking, drinking Niko soda.... until 11:30, when, due to impending doom as demonstrated by a technicolor lightning show approaching, they decided to serve up the sheep they had killed that afternoon and grilled, with sweet potatoes and chipa guasu (a fresh corn bread).

I new it was delicious, and it felt like a celebration, and then it felt rainy. Two minutes into the meal the clouds broke and we sprinted inside, balancing plates of sheep ribs in our hand, and finished eating inside. At midnight we stopped eating, and all walked around in a circle and kissed everyone´s cheek to wish each person Merry Christmas. A traditionally awkward Paraguayan dance circle soon started, and right as we were getting into it the electricity went out.

Sitting in the dark, surrounded by pouring rain and dim candles it was impossible to not appreciate the moment. While it was not a Christmas I could have ever planned for myself, it was definitely a Christmas to remember. A last minute change of plans seemed to work out OK, and at the very least, got me excited for my future return to my own slice of campo heaven.


Medical Note: First blood test negative! This means that I might still be able to work with bees. Now I wait in the city until Tuesday for the skin allergy test. Lets hope they find something definitive and perhaps I can be back in site, or in a new site, by this weekend!

Site in Limbo

Last friday (the 11th of December) we doned our best and headed over to the embassy to swear in as official volunteers. Following various speeches, including an excelent speech and interactive game by our own Carlos, and munching down on delicious fried chicken and the infamous swearing-in chocolate mocha cake, swearing in weekend began. We all stayed in a great hotel downtown, and days were full of eating all our favorite non-paraguayan foods we could find, and lounging at the hotel pool celebrating the accomplishment of 11 weeks of language and technical training.

But after a long weekend, sites were calling. While the city was pleasant, I must admit I was anxious to head back to begin at my site. Myself and my neighbors headed out from the hotel at 7 am and were on our bus at 8, we arrived in Caazapa at 2:30, where we proceeded to wait 4.5 hours (getting to site was not meant to be easy I guess) and I was finally dropped at my cruze at aroun 9pm. I was greated in the dark by my community contact, a random teenager on a horse, my host dad and his moto, and my host mom to walk beside me.

Getting back to site was great. I had a short first night of greetings, slept well, and awoke with neighbors already visiting to say hi. I dropped my extra stuff at my future house since I will be moving around every 15 days, and then headed off to beekeep with Karai Carlos down the road (he had shown up at my house at 8 am to make sure I could work with him that afternoon!). We worked bees for 4 hours in the blazing heat, but towards the end of our second traciego the bees started getting annoyed, and a very common event happened, I was stung.

What followed unfortunately was not normal. I became unusually hot, and worried, and I ignored it for thirty minutes and helped out, feeling very strange. When I finished and pulled off my gear, I found that my head and neck were itchy, my ears red and swollen, and I was very spacey. I somehow excused myself from a terere session and walked home. That's when I noticed I could not take deep breathes either, and as I rested, they became more shallow. I took meds, called the doc, and we monitered everything very well until the reaction ended.

Soooooo, the danger of the potential situation is evident. I was sent back to Asuncion (my sweet little family woke up at 3:30 am to hike me out to the ruta to catch the 4am bus, and have proceeded to call every day), where I have been since thursday (its now monday). They couldn't do anything until today, and then they drew blood. Results will not be back until Christmas Eve, so there will be no appointment until at least a week from today. Thus, they are letting me go back to site for Christmas.

I head back tomorrow morning, though uncertainty still looms. I love my site, I love the people, I want to stay. Unfortunately if I am severely allergic to something, I may have to be moved to a location closer to a hospital (when it rains at my site you cannot go anywhere for 2 days, and the nearest hospital is about 3 hours away on the sketchy dirt road anyways). I am trying to stay positive about either option. After all, I signed up for this knowing that I would have little control. I am only finding it hard as all my friend settle into their two year futures, and I continue to wander, not knowing for sure where my home will be for the next two years. For now I will just have faith, so far Paraguay has treated me well, there is no reason to think that this situation will turn out any other way.

Brief Comments

So time has shortened, and swearing in is only a day away. In the mean time, I did manage to hammer my finger yesterday, and it did not break! So now it is just huge. red, hurting, and covered in a very large bandage, which may or may not end up in my swearing in photos...

anyways, i have some brief instances on why sometimes paraguay is great. The first is that due to the massive number of toads (kururu in Guarani and very fun to say) and frogs here, all along the streets of Paraguay there is a massive game of Frogger going on. Needless to say, the real toads and frogs are not nearly as smooth as my own hand at the computer, and as I step on, over or by around 20 dried toads smooshed flat on the ruta every time I walk home, I must say, Paraguay's motor invasion is totally kicking the local frogs rear behinds.

Another thing that always puts a smile on my face are the random English t-shirts that make it down here. The best two are as follows: first, on a girl my age in hooded, tank-top form "sun you buns... IN HELL" with flames and flowers adorning. Second, on a middle-aged very american looking older women who clearly had no idea what she was wearing around at her young child's school bash "FRESHMAN: the hookups of tomorrow."

OK, now its back to training for the last day. Swearing in this weekend with photos of my site and other updates to come.