Mis pantalones estan en fuego!

06-12-10 When I think of a bunch of young men scrambling up a greased-up pole, I generally think of the Naval Academy. (Hey, I’m from the Annapolis area.) And I usually don’t imagine those young men being in drag. Or wearing wigs. Or masks from the Scream movies. That all changed tonight. The Festival of San Juan is a weird, weird event. Yes, I said it. Yes, that might make me culturally insensitive. But I’ll stand by this statement. It doesn’t help that no one I asked could explain why they do any of the things they did. They only knew the names of various activities that are traditionally done for San Juan in Guarani. It should be mentioned that although San Juan generally consists of activities that include fire and others that do not, here in wonderful Villa Madrid those non-fire related activities were largely ignored. Oh how I love my neighborhood!

So, to be honest, I didn’t especially want to go to San Juan today. I’ve been kind of sick the past few days and really didn’t feel like being at a party where I was going to be standing around awkwardly with a bunch of people who watched a handful of teenagers dance. That is what many parties here look like. What do I usually do? Play with children. Anyway, my assumptions about what I was in for were totally off, thank God. I got there and went over to where some of my youth group was sitting behind a bare tree (actually branch) in a planter that was covered with little balloons. Children would come and pay 1,000Guaranis (20 cents) to pick a balloon. They pop said balloon and a piece of paper either says “San Juan tells you YES” or (you guessed it!) “San Juan tells you NO”. Yes means prize, No means you get nothing. Since it was the only activity for kids at the beginning, it was quite a hit. I was surprised because, to be honest, the prizes sucked. Who wants to win an eraser?? (Later another booth opened up for kids—you got a prize if you shot a can off of a windowsill. If I was ten and had to choose between popping a balloon and shooting a gun I’d probably chose the gun. Note: Not much has changed in the past 15 years, though I’ve never shot a gun…)

Some key male members of the youth group were missing though. Where were they? Prepping to be Cambã—I have no clue what that means, but it looked a lot like this. Have you ever drunkenly put together a Halloween costume? Well, you may well have fit right in at San Juan. When I asked about the theme of the costume, I was told they were all supposed to be ugly and (some thought) feminine, and disguised. The costumes ranged greatly, but each of our Cambã teens definitely had a stick. That threw me at first until I saw them running around dancing and having things thrown at them by children. The Cambã then ran after said children swinging that stick while a band of wind instruments played. It was weird. Luckily these boys are my amigos and gave the ever-valuable backstage pass where we had a little photo shoot.





Then I actually slipped out for a little while to eat fish (fish for the first time EVER in my neighborhood!) at a house nearby with one of my closest 40-something comedor lady friends at a party she invited me to. When we got back to the fiesta, the yvyra suĩ or greased-up pole was in full force. People were stacked on top of one another. Below? Cement, obviously. At the top of the pole were several prizes. There was a rumor that there was 100,000Gs (US$20) up there but it turned out just to be 2,000Gs (US40cents). Oops. What else? Some crackers, a soda, a bottle of caña (the super strong Paraguayan sugar cane booze), some cookies.

Next comes torro candi (or burning bull). In this a guy puts on a costume that you might otherwise see in a Chinese parade (I’m somehow blanking on the words right now), but it is of a bull. His front horns are lit on fire. He runs after people—mostly children—for a while. I don’t have anything really to say about this part except that when that dude did finally take off his costume he seemed quite drunk. It made me curious if there was anyone in particular in charge of these fire activities…

So at this point I’m feeling good—full of fish, sopa Paraguaya, and water (I don’t drink at all in my neighborhood because of a very strong divide between those who drink and those who work)—and so is everyone else. People are drunk. Very drunk. It’s still early enough in the month that people aren’t totally broke yet. The kids are running around, covered in grease from the pole, throwing cans at each other. As I’m talking to this nice couple I look over to see a handful of people crowding around a ball. Only it isn’t just a ball. It is a fireball. A ball of fire. In Guaraní: vacapipopo tatã. Anddddd it starts to get kicked around aimlessly. I’m sorry if I misled you before with the comment about me maybe being interested in shooting a gun but I’m actually a huge wuss. And a ball of fire was coming at me! What the F*%$? Somehow I’m one of the few people who seem at all concerned about the fireball. A kid falls down in a swing-and-a-miss kick. There is just laughter. An especially drunk guy picks it up and throws it—into a crowd! We’re talking about a ball of cloth with some sort of flammable spray helping the flames. I don’t know what else to say about this. It was insane. Check out the video at the bottom of this blog for a quick glimpse...

The finale was the burning of Judas. This was basically a scarecrow tied to another pole. I thought it’d just be burned but apparently it had “fireworks in his belly”, which of course became fireworks that shot sometimes into the air, but more often out into the crowd at random, causing screams of both joy and fear. It was quite an interesting night. Last year I actually went to the same party but went too early and stayed too short a time to see anything interesting. (I remember eating some food and then leaving because it was freezing and I had a ride home.) So I only have myself to blame for not seeing all this ridiculousness last year. The really good thing though? The actual San Juan Festival isn’t until the end of the month and I’m planning on going elsewhere to experience it again. There should be people walking on hot coals at the next festival as well…who knows? Maybe I’ll join them for a quick stroll…

A Quick Note on Cat Proofing my Casa

I spent a while last night cat-proofing my house. No, this doesn't mean that I suddenly like cats and have decided to get a nasty little creature of my own. It means that ONCE AGAIN I have had a cat break into my house. Several months ago the cat marked its territory by leaving three kittens behind my fridge. This time it (actually probably a different cat) marked its territory in a more traditional sense. It urinated on a jacket of mine that I left on the big table in my main room. I went to put the jacket on last night to go to English class and smelled something foul. After some investigating, I found a small puddle next to where the jacket was sitting. Why do these cats consider my house to be a barn?? Ugh. I happen to love my casa.

So I spent some time with cardboard, the last of my duct-tape (gasp!), and some packaging tape patching up the front window--one of many my landlord had promised to fix months ago until he decided that they tried to charge us too much once they came to the house to measure and saw that I, a tall Norte, was living here. Since then I've just been waiting. And waiting knowing that nothing will be done about this situation. It doesn't actually really bother me to have some glass missing from the windows other than when rain and the now horribly frigidly cold weather and wind blows through the house, leaving me cold at night even when I wear spandex, sweats, a bathrobe and a winter hat to sleep.

Not all of the windows are blocked now. Unfortunately I've run out of cardboard just when I would be blocking my bedroom window. A few months ago a cat actually leapt through the window and then bolted through the house as I was watching a movie. Mokoi Nambi (the dog Two Ears who lived with me for a few months) didn't even react. I'm just hoping that I don't wake up one day with the cat cuddling up next to me as I sleep...

Big Fish

05-24-2010

Well, it’s raining. Again. And it’s driving me insane. When it rains here, as I’ve written before, things stop. School is cancelled, meetings out the window. Last winter there was a drought so although the weather was cold, the days were pleasant out in the sun. The past week has been wet and dreary. Ugh.

Though the talk here in Paraguay very frequently revolves around the weather, I’m not sure I want my blog to follow suit, so we’ll move on. The past week has been a bit quiet thanks to the rain, but I’ve had two surprising conversations with Paraguayans. Well, OK, I lied. The first was actually with a drunken Argentinean who asked if I was thirty-six! Thirty-effing-six!! I’m twenty-five, jerk. The kicker? He claimed to be thirty when was definitely at least forty. Jerk.

The other surprising interaction happened this past week in my neighborhood. Tomorrow an organization called Fundación Visión is coming. They came last month as well to do cheap/free eye exams and sell cheap eye glasses. Both times I’ve been responsible for putting up fliers to let people know about the visit. So I was putting up propaganda (the word for advertisements in Spanish) in front of local stores. I went into a used clothing store I’d never been in before and asked to put up a flier, explaining who I am and the project. The woman asked me about English classes for her teenage kids and I explained that I do have an English class but it is now too late for new students so I’ll let her know when I start another. She was absolutely thrilled by this and the idea of any and all of the projects I’m doing. We said goodbye and I walked outside to tape a flier outside her store. She followed and stopped me just as I was about to leave, saying I should come over for lunch one day and then spend a whole day together. And then a huge smile spread across her face. You know, she said, last night I had a dream that I was a fisherman…and I caught a huge fish…and I think the dream I had was actually about meeting you—YOU were the big FISH!! I really didn’t know how to respond to that. So I laughed and smiled and promised to come back for lunch some time—what else could I do?

So aside from being asked if I was 36 and being told I appeared in a stranger’s dream as a fish, what’s new in my life? Well, as I mentioned, the eye doctors are coming back again this week and to two other parts of my neighborhood next month. We did the second day of the community census this past Saturday and now have a bit more than 150 of 600 done. The project is going painfully slowly, to be honest, and the teens who were originally enthusiastic about the project have become much less so. Only five of them showed up to help this Saturday and two of those five are actually part of my other youth group and just came to be nice. Three PCVs came to help as well, which was really sweet of them. With the younger youth group we have continued doing activities on Saturday mornings with the kids from the free meal program. This past week I checked out a Mobile Library from the PC library which consists of a bag of 15 kids’ books that I’ll have for the next month. I read aloud to the kids in small groups Saturday and plan on bringing the bag of books around at various times so they can read to themselves or with me. It is absolutely amazing how attentive even the most hyperactive children are when a book comes out. There are almost never opportunities for them to read books at their leisure—the books they see are always textbooks. English class is going well but nothing really new to report there. The sex ed/HIV/AIDS/relationships class is also going well, though it got cancelled a few weeks in a row thanks to soccer tournaments. This past week at the end of class I had the students write down things that they want to talk about/learn about. A few kids wrote that they want to talk about pornography…I don’t really know what that class could possibly look like to be honest. Weird. This week the topic is decision making and we’re doing an activity in which they talk about reasons to have sex now and reasons to wait to have sex. It usually makes for an interesting discussion. I’d better run but will try to get better about blogging. Chaucito.

The Letter E: Easter, English, Early, Eyes

So my brother’s visit has come and gone. We had a great time running around Paraguay, visiting friends of mine, and reminiscing about the days when I could beat him up. Highlights were definitely the waterfall Salto Cristal, which we went to with a PC friend of mine and some Paraguayan neighbors of his, seeing the capybaras (obviously), and having Rahde convinced that he can market the terrible Paraguayan sugar cane booze in the States. Check out the photos if you’d like. Somehow we didn’t figure out until our farewell at the airport that we won’t see each other until August 2011. (He got a Watson Fellowship and will be traveling to New Zealand, South Africa, India, Turkey, and Jamaica studying open fire cooking techniques. Jealous? Yeah, me too.)



I was ready to get back to work after he left and I got back to site after helping with the PC Paraguay publication but I got back just in time for Holy Week. Holy week in the US (at least for me) just consists of possibly dying Easter eggs and enjoying an early Cadbury Egg or two. Here it consists of eating a ridiculous amount of chipa hard corn-based bread) and doing very little. Oh, wait. That is everywhere else in Paraguay. Here in Villa Madrid there is no shortage of chipa but we also enjoy Pascua mita’i and Pascua Joven (translation: Children’s Easter and Teenager’s Easter). Obviously. The youth at my local church put together three days full of activities. Since I was out of site beforehand I didn’t help plan and was not really involved, but I did attend to play with kids, dance for God, and take pictures of the event. Dance for God? Right, you should question that. There was a great deal of calling out different groups to have them dance for a while in the middle of a circle of 80 kids and a bunch of teenagers. They were all called in groups but me. This is the joy of being the weird Norte here. Anyway, the teenagers did a good job and the kids all had a blast.

I talked to my mother yesterday and she asked me what I did for Easter. I had kind of forgotten it was Easter, since it was also a PC friend’s birthday. Three of us had planned to sit in the food court of a mall in Asuncion playing Banana Grams (obviously) and having some beer until a movie started. The online movie schedule was wrong so the movie wasn’t until 6 hours later. We nixed that idea but figured we’d spend the day Banana Gramming and playing chess anyway. A mall employee interrupted a Banana Gram hand to tell us that the mall food court had a no gaming rule. I still really don’t understand/believe this. He went on to tell us that the food court was for consuming food and drink only, even though we were doing so. Unfortunately we had to move on to actually talking to each other. We were all thoroughly disappointed and decided to move our gaming next door to the grocery store food court. They welcomed us with open arms. So although my Easter did not involve bunnies, eggs, or pastels of any sort, it did involve Brahma beer, Banana Grams, and a grocery store food court. This may be my new tradition.

Since then life has been super busy in site. Last week I started English class. I have been avoiding this for the past year but finally broke down and began it. The class is to run for ten weeks, twice a week for two hours a class. The first day was horribly painful (6 people showed and one girl was mean and snobby which I thought was weird since this is obviously a completely optional course); the second was much better (12 showed up and seemed invested and interested); and the third (last night’s) was even better. 23 people are now in the class, even though I had closed the class to just 20 people. I really have no idea how this happened. Anyway, I have an attendance policy and strict rules as far as what it takes to receive a certificate but the class is pretty relaxed. I’m actually enjoying it much more than I thought I would, which is to say that I am actually enjoying it while I thought I was going to hate it.

Yesterday Fundacion Vision came to my site to do free eye exams for people over the age of 60 and for 10,000Guaranis ($2US) for everyone else. It went much better than I expected as well. I had somehow misunderstood a month or so ago when I invited the group and made 30 fliers for my neighborhood that said it was free for people over 60 and kids under 10. Guess what. Not true at all for kids. I ran around like a crazy person Saturday afternoon changing all my fliers and explaining my incompetence to all the families I had invited. The foundation also sells cheap glasses and offers follow-up surgeries at low prices at a later date. They’re coming back at the end of May and again in June in two locations—the first phase and the fourth phase (which sounds like it should be part of my neighborhood but is actually the same size as my neighborhood and about 2 miles away). Anyway, I’m psyched to be working with them, though I did have to be at the comedor at 6am yesterday to welcome them and then they were obviously an hour late…Oh how I love Hora Paraguaya!

This past weekend at the comedor (free meals program for kids) we began activities and educational chats with the kids. I did a bunch of stuff that focused on dental health, which is really lacking here. There are a lot of kids who have cavities that are actually visible in their front teeth. It is very common for adults to be missing teeth in Paraguay, especially since dentists frequently find it best/easiest/who knows? to just pull teeth to deal with whatever problem. Anyway, we read a story, sang some songs, and practiced tooth brushing on a big set of teeth I got from the Peace Corps office. The kids then had a competition of plays, music, and games for which I was a judge. They tied, thanks for asking. Jovenes Unidos (my youth groups who works with these kids) then did a little chat about the environment and we had a trash pickup competition. Again, it was great, though for whatever reason I had to be there as well at 6:30am. I really hate how early things start in this country. A lot. I can’t stress this enough.

Anyway, that’s what my life has been looking like lately. Work is good and steady. Today I’m going to a high school to talk to the principal about a series of activities/presentations that two students and I want to do there about sex-ed, healthy relationships, and HIV/AIDS. If all goes as planned we’ll be doing this at three different high schools in the area and then have a day of basically the same presentations but also invite a non-profit from Asuncion to come give out free condoms and information. I’m psyched.

An Underwater Adventure...Indoors

03-15-2010

The weirdest thing that has happened to me here in Paraguay to date happened today. That feels like a big claim to make—things get weird here—but its true. This teenage boy, Ricardo, was at my house for one of our informal English chats that we do a couple of times a week. We were chatting in English and Spanish when I saw that there was a puddle forming in my “guest room”. This is much more like storage space than anything else but was definitely originally constructed as another bedroom. Because of the crumbling walls I didn’t paint it and can’t put anything important there because of some leaks in the roof that have supposedly been fixed several times. It is not a very nice room. But I was still surprised to see the puddle. Did I leave the refrigerator door open and did my ice melt? No, I used the fridge a half hour before and it isn’t that hot today… But what is this? And why does it seem to be growing so quickly? And then I found it—the gushing water pouring out of my wall. There was a pipe that is partially exposed about five inches from the ground. It runs along the wall. I’ve never noticed it before, but it was definitely the culprit, and I realize a bunch of stuff is getting soaked. So Ricardo and I start moving some things out of the room—boxes filled with crafts supplies, a radio that has never worked, my friend’s suitcase that she left with me. I guess its worth noting that I’m swearing a lot. Not that I was stressed or worried, but mostly because I know nothing about plumbing, lots of cardboard I was saving to do charlas was getting drenched, and the water was coming steadily. Ricardo was very pleased to hear the words coming out of my mouth—words that before today he had only heard in movies.

I tell Ricardo we should turn off the water but that I have no idea where to turn it off. He glances into the front yard and tells me I don’t have a water shut off valve. (Note: My plumbing lingo/vocab is not impressive in English, Spanish, or Guarani. I may make up words in English, as I did in Spanish when explaining this issue.) Ricardo wants to know if he can borrow a book. I look through my bookshelf and hand him one of short stories to occupy him for the next 10 days while I can’t meet. This is how totally unconcerned he was. He leaves. I call my landlord, trying to explain just how quickly the water is coming into the house. Maybe my powers of persuasion are a little rusty, or maybe it’s the tranquilo lifestyle, but his response was that he would come by sometime tomorrow to take a look at it. Not useful. I literally at this point have what I described as a lake forming in my room. I go next door to talk to Marisa, who is the very same lady who helped me with the cats behind the fridge issue. She comes in, seems appropriately concerned about the water level, and though she finds the water shut off valve, cannot turn it off. She and I rack our brains for plumbers in the neighborhood. She looks for a number unsuccessfully, and then we go a few doors down for more neighborly help. I don’t know this neighbor’s name. This isn’t uncommon—there are simply too many names to remember and no one uses names when they talk to or about people here. We’ll just refer to him as Don Hero for the rest of the story.

Don Hero comes to my house and shuts off the water. End of story. No, just kidding. It doesn’t do anything. He shut off my water but it is still coming—and getting stronger still. (Well, maybe not stronger, but definitely not slowing.) He gets down on his hands and knees in the inch and a half of water that has gathered, cups his hands together, takes up some water, and brings it to his face. For a moment I think he is washing his face with it. Then I think maybe he is drinking it. Apparently he is smelling it. Very luckily for both of us, it apparently isn’t sewage. He asks me for a tool to break the wall open. I don’t actually question this request. He has always been very friendly, and though his children are slightly devilish, he doesn’t strike me as a destructive person. I hand him my machete, which was a gift from our trainer (on which my trainer wrote “Gender” on one side and “Environment” on the other in Spanish in an exercise in which we went around in a circle talking about various PC themes at the close of training). Don Hero seemed surprised by the writing on the machete, but started whacking away at the wall anyway, sending plaster flying in every which way and showing that the gushing water was actually coming from under the wall much further to the right. The water obviously continues gushing out. Marisa comes back to check on us. They speak in Guarani. I have no idea what they’re talking about. I fight back the urge to giggle at the ridiculousness of the situation. Apparently he wants to know if this leak is in the same place where their (Marisa’s) bathroom is, since our houses are side-by-side and share a wall. Don Hero continues hacking away, trying to find the water source while Marisa stands by then goes to get her husband. I make jokes about becoming more popular being the only person in our neighborhood with an indoor pool. There is nothing else I can do but laugh. I have changed into my Crocs (note: this may actually be what Crocs were made for) and the water has gotten so deep that it literally covers them. I chuckle again. The neighbors turn their water off. (Though I only have water 3 times a day, they have another system that makes it so they always have water.) The water coming out of my wall slows to a trickle. I make another joke—I should have known this wasn’t coming from my pipe; I never get that kind of pressure! No wonder they think I’m weird.

So as we survey the damages and move some stuff in my main room to make space for the water that has spilled out into the house, my landlord gets there. (I called him a second time at some point during this and did a better job at stressing the urgency of the situation.) The landlord chats with the men in Guarani. I know what’s going on. It is decided that the neighbors will pay for someone to come over and fix my wall tomorrow morning. We exchange smiles, the landlord asks me random things in broken English as he always seems to do at the weirdest times. My water is turned back on (but has been turned off at the main water tank by this point) and I say goodbye to my landlord and his wife and teenage son. My landlord asks me if my neighbors are treating me ok, which I find almost offensive considering how wonderfully useful they had been for the past hour. We chat, I mention off-hand that I don’t especially want to push all this water out of my house with a squeegee. He tells me that I should just leave it, and that it will soak into the brick floor. Obviously.

Just as I’m about to start cleaning up, the neighbor father and daughter show up with a bucket and several brooms. Cleaning it up with them was so much faster than it would have been by myself. We finished getting the water up and the father obviously wanted to look around, since he had never been in the house while I lived there, and quite possibly had never been inside, though they had lived next to it for 16 years. (In Paraguay if you go to someone’s house, you very frequently just stay on the porch or patio—the house can be considered very private space.) I welcomed him to look around and chatted with his daughter, laughing about how my landlord thought I should just leave the water to dry itself. I keep my shower supplies up high on a board that I can barely reach. He came out of the bathroom grinning, apparently very amused at the arrangement.

I spoke to a friend just after they left, telling him the story, and several things occurred to me. I realize that my reaction to laugh at such a ridiculous situation is maybe a good one and that on a different day I could have reacted quite differently. I have found that having a sense of humor about these sorts of things helps me maintain my sanity, but that also it is impossible to do so. A couple of months ago I had one of those weeks that everything had gone wrong. Some projects weren’t going over well, things just didn’t seem to be going my way, I kept being sick… and then I found out I had head lice. And it was just the absolute last straw. But then today literally half of my house was completely flooded and it is one of the more amusing things I’ve ever seen. And I’m lucky…I’m lucky that I was here in the house when it happened. I cannot imagine getting home at the end of the day or after a few days out of site to a completely water logged house! And I’m lucky that my neighbors are wonderfully curious, open, helpful, and just plain neighborly! What kind of baked good best says “Thanks for busting my wall apart with a machete, finding the huge water leak, and then helping me bail out my living room”?

Photos & Olympia is Better Than Cerro for about a Billion Reasons

3-3-2010

Here is a link to see a bunch of photos of a field trip to a park/zoo I took with the comedor kids, and the two camps that I mentioned in the last blog. Take a look if you want. I’ve added some labels to help explain what’s going on and who is in the pictures. Also, there is a single photo of the disgusting kittens I found behind my refrigerator a few months ago so you can see just how hideous they are. (Note: other people claim these wretched animals are cute. I no longer speak to said people who clearly have absolutely no taste, morals, or decency.)

Moving right along, the past few days I had a trainee visiting. I had expected four days filled with awkward silences and mutual dislike but instead found it to be a rather pleasant few days. Perhaps due to the fact that he had never had to bucket bathe before, he seemed not to especially enjoy that part of his visit… We spent a bunch of time with my younger youth group—having lunch, practicing dirty Guarani phrases, doing and participating in some charlas—and playing with kids. And on Sunday we met up with another Volunteer who was hosting a Trainee to go to a Cerro-Olympia game in the capital. These two teams are a favorite conversation piece in Paraguay, second only to the always interesting topic of the weather (aka “Wow, it is hot today.” “Yes, it is.”). Kids here ask which club you’re for, assuming that in the US we too are divided between Cerro and Olympia fans. I’m for Olympia, and if you’re reading this blog, you should be too. Cerro fans are malicious, violent, ugly and stupid. That may sound a bit uncalled for, but studies have shown this to be true time and time again. Why am I an Olympia fan? Oh, let me count the ways! I like black and white better than blue and red. Olympia is a bit of an underdog. Cerro fans are like Yankees fans. (I’m not talking Yankees fans that grew up in New York, blah blah blah. I’m talking the fans who just like the Yankees because they’re a huge institution with a bunch of money and a lot of gear for sale everywhere you go.) But mostly, I lived with a bunch of Olympia fans and one of my favorite language professors during training was an Olympia fan. No, I can’t name a single player on the team. No, I have no clue of their record this year or any other. And no, I really no nothing else about them other than what their uniform looks like, but damnit—I’m a fan. (Also, according to Wikipedia, Olympia is the oldest soccer club in Paraguay.)

What I also know is that they won this past Sunday. I was there, sitting in the hot sun, on the bleacher seats that have those little seats that could double as a kayak seat, with just a line of riot police dressed in what honestly looked like Gladiator uniforms separating us from the Cerro fans. I had never been to an Olympia-Cerro game before but had been to the stadium in October for a Paraguay-Colombia game. The crowd was much more rowdy this time, and I heard more expletives that day than probably in the entire last year of my life. I was later told that a Cerro fan threw a switchblade onto the field during the game. At the end of the game, Cerro fans sulked out of the stadium to the roar of our wonderful (and always tactful) Olympia cheers. We walked down to the street, had a beer, parted ways with the other PCV and trainee, and jumped on a bus to Limpio. At the rather quiet corner where we boarded the bus were two lines of riot police, seemingly randomly placed watching the buses pass. There were no seats left on our bus, but we were some of the only people standing, until about 3 blocks after we got on when about 20 teenagers took over. They piled on through both doors, yelling and hitting each other. Shortly thereafter they were singing Olympia cheers and songs, flipping off anyone outside the bus with Cerro jerseys or colors, while some drank beers and smoked cigarettes in the back. Then, suddenly there was a loud CRACK above the rest of the noise and everyone threw themselves to the floor of the bus. Apparently those dirty, no-good Cerro fans had started throwing rocks, breaking one of the bus windows. The driver sped on, knowing that stopping to investigate would just invite more rocks and the possibility of more injuries. Everyone seemed fine, with the exception of a layer of shattered glass covering the seats, floors, and people. I told the trainee that I had heard of people throwing rocks at buses for no reason (and more frequently after games) but thought it was fairly uncommon. The throng of teenage boys got off shortly thereafter. The bus was much quieter, and we were back to just a few people standing in the aisle. One of these people, however, was donning an Olympia jersey. The rocks started flying again—this time several made contact with the windows, causing a rain of shattered glass to come down on us and the other passengers. I honestly had no idea this was so common! Some teenage girls in the back of the bus pleaded for the middle-aged man with the Olympia jersey to take it off, but he refused. We spent a great bit of time ducked down near the floor, chatting about the usual things—Paraguayan customs, news I’ve missed in the US the past year, the annoyances of training. All told, we got out unscathed—the trainee got hit by one of the rocks on the shin, but luckily the window slowed it down before it hit just hard enough to require a Band-Aid.

The next few weeks should be good, but busy. This weekend we may be doing a sex-ed/HIV/AIDS half day of charlas. I’m bringing some teenagers to a HIV/AIDS conference at the end of next week, then have 7 of the trainees coming to visit for a night of activities in site. And the following week my brother, Rahde, comes to visit for 10 days! I’m not sure exactly what the plan is as of yet, but we should be travelling around Paraguay, visiting other PC amigos’ sites and eating/killing various things. I’m hoping we can both kill chickens while he is here, and perhaps participate in a pig roast. Although I oh-so-dearly-love carpinchos, I’m hoping to eat some of one and perhaps an alligator. On another note, my landlord said he is willing to split the cost of replacing the 20 broken windows in my house and that we can have them fixed at the end of next week! And, to top it all off, he said he’d even take care of the hornets that have invaded my front patio area! I’ll be living like a queen in no time!!

Camp, Dam, Camp

2-24-2010

Alright, so I haven’t written in about 6 weeks, which is a new record for my blog slacking. The summer has finally ended here—school started yesterday all over Paraguay, though I have a friend who lives further south who told me that inexplicably no one showed up for the first day in her neighborhood. I’m pleased the school year is starting again—it means a more structured environment and also that the comedor kids may have a bit less energy to pick fights with one another and generally be rambunctious. That being said, I’m not sure what happened to the summer.

In February I’ve gone to two different camps with teenagers from my community. Both were organized through other Peace Corps Volunteers—one was the Urban Youth Development Camp, which was just for UYD volunteers and their youth (13-18) while the other was Gender and Development Camp which was open to any volunteers to bring youth (15-25). The first was a leadership camp, where the kids did a lot of games, activities, charlas run by other youth, etc. and was held at Jack Norment, near Caacupe. The highlights for the two kids I brought were meeting other teens from all over Paraguay, getting away from home for a few nights, and the pool. They seem really excited to do some of the activities we did there with our youth group here—particularly the one where you have kids dress up one member of their group as a bride using only toilet paper, tape, and random things found in the area. The camp only cost about 10,000 Guaranis for each of my kids (US$2) since we received funds to do it. Each kid had to pay the cost of the bus ride to get to and from the camp, which was more expensive for some than others. It was just really great to see this kind of rare opportunity given to the kids. One of the four kids I brought lives in a one room shack made entirely by found materials with her mom and 12 year old brother. All the kids have already asked me about going back next year.

The other camp I went to, the Gender and Development camp, was at Tati Yupi, a Biological Reserve near Ciudad del Este and the Itaipu Dam. I brought three kids from my neighborhood—one was invited to help run the games at night since she’d done so the year before with the last volunteer who was in my site. The ride was a long one out to Ciudad del Este (about 6 hours by bus) but comfortable. Unfortunately for us (we travelled with my friend Barbara and her teens as well) the driver wasn’t a big fan of our group for whatever reason and started leaving the bus terminal in Ciudad del Este before we got a chance to get off. He then slammed on the breaks suddenly, sending me flying down the stairs with my hands full just to stub my toe, get rug burn on my elbow and slam my head against the wall. It was a nice welcome to the biggest city in Paraguay not using some sort of Christian name (i.e. Concepcion and Encarnacion). This is the city of black markets—a city where Peace Corps Volunteers are actually not allowed to stay overnight. Regardless, we made it out to Tati Yupi and from there had a great 4 days and 3 nights of charlas, activities, a great deal of singing and chanting, tractor rides, and an absurd amount of BananaGrams (among Volunteers). The theme was Service Learning, so we focused on how to train these kids to go back to their communities to be leaders there. On our last night we went out to Itaipu, which has been named as one of the 7 Wonders of the Modern World. We went for a light show. It was honestly one of the most disappointing displays I’ve ever seen. I thought light show meant colored lights, maybe some fireworks, etc. Instead it just meant someone turning on a bunch of light switches (seemingly) to show the dam, then lighting up a 7 floor office building floor by floor. But don’t worry, all this was set to dramatic music, which made up for it. Another great addition was that they took the velvet rope down once the whole thing was lit up, thus allowing us all to go forward to the railing. Regardless, the next day we went back to see the real deal in daylight. It was MUCH more impressive then, especially since the water was flowing. Apparently it has been since November thanks to a bunch of flooding in Brazil. (The dam shares borders with Brazil and Paraguay, providing 20% of all of Brazil’s electricity and 90% of Paraguay’s.) It was amazing to see and really made me want to ride on water rides… I’ll try to put up some photos. I think that all the Volunteers who went to GAD Camp are putting up photos together somewhere, so I’ll post that when I know.

New trainees got here a few weeks ago as well. There are three groups of trainees that arrive in Paraguay each year but the numbers are growing, and this is the first group that has come in as my sister G—meaning they are all part of my project, or the two other projects that come in in February (Rural Health and Sanitation and Early Elementary Education). It is amazing that I’ve now been here for a year, and am now the one going in to trainings to teach other trainees what its like to be a Volunteer. This weekend, in fact, a trainee will come to visit as a kind of day (or weekend) in the life… Bizarre. The timing, too, is off, since school has just begun and Monday is a holiday here. The weekends tend to be slow, but we shall see. My younger youth group wants to do a project, so we’ll see how that goes. Also I’ve been trying to figure out a way to motivate my older youth group to come together to reignite our census project within the neighborhood. Anyway, I’m not sure how it’ll go, but it should be interesting. Thus far I’ve gone in to help with ice breakers and games and also to talk about youth groups. They’ve gone well, and the trainees have all now been taught Gaga, which is obviously the best game ever played.

Funny things keep happening, obviously. I was telling a story to a bunch of other PCVs about how my friend Hugo and I keep track of the mini-telenovelas happening between the pre-teens at the comedor…basically lots of flirting by way of hitting and chasing each other. Hugo and I laugh about bringing popcorn to eat while we watch these little dramas unfold. I mentioned Hugo as “my friend” in the story (in English) and then realized that this is how greatly my life has changed over the past year. Hugo, someone I consider a friend, is actually 9 years old. He is honestly one of my favorite kids. He’s so thoughtful and sweet…the other day, for example, I was walking down the big hill to the comedor but was running late. So naturally he offered me a ride on his bike. As I sat on the seat with him standing on the pedals, my hands reaching under his armpits to grip the middle of the handle bars in fear as he ignored his fully functioning brakes, I realized that my life really is quite different than it was a year ago...

Work, Talent Shows, and Belly Buttons

01-11-10

So, I’ve jumped back into my work life as planned. It has been a bit crazy, but very enjoyable. I’ve been spending a great deal of my time at the comedor. Barbara came to visit on Saturday morning after her lovely mother left to head back to the states. On Saturday we ran a bunch of errands. I am now the proud owner of both a blender and a bookshelf! (You have no idea how excited about both of these items.) Then we went down to the comedor for a meeting that obviously was cancelled. It was to be a parents meeting but hardly anyone showed up so it is postponed until further notice. This has been a really frustrating part for the old comedor ladies, new comedor ladies, and me. There are about 50 kids who eat breakfast and lunch there for free every single weekday. This is a service offered for free and run by volunteers who dedicate their time out of the goodness of their hearts. And then they try to call a meeting to try to plan events, improve the comedor, have more people involved, whatever, and none of the parents show up. Infuriating. I don’t know how to fix this—we talked about maybe having a raffle in which your name is only entered if you show up to the meetings, or perhaps offering snacks, but the problem with the snacks is that then all the kids will come and you have 75 mouths to feed. And obviously it’d be unfair to not feed kids because their parents are irresponsible/busy/whatever.
Anyway, Barbara and I went to one Señora’s house because I had to talk to her husband who is in charge of the neighborhood commission. I commented on her wedding picture that was on the wall and the next thing I knew I had a huge wedding album in my hand. After the wedding album came her teenage son’s album. This was all fine and good until I came across the page where she had pinned down his umbilical cord. It was a very surprising addition to the album and my Saturday night. We then went to a 19-year-old’s birthday party briefly. I like the girl but these parties are always so strange. There are so many kids (literally kids—like 10 year olds) grinding and/or dancing extremely provocatively. It just creeps me out. They just dance and the rest of the group sits around and watches.
Sunday included 4 hours on buses to visit training families. It’s so interesting to me to now go back and visit my family from training. I had such a rocky relationship with them at the time but now my visits are so pleasant—and I feel really guilty if I don’t go back and visit. That being said, my visits usually only last for a delicious meal and then I leave. Last time I actually took a nap after lunch, although I was only there for about six hours total. Regardless, Babs and I got back to my site just in time to be the judges for the talent show put on by the comedor. It was so much more enjoyable than I expected it to be! The kids danced, sang, and did really short plays. The singing was rough—a few kids did solos without music or microphones, but to popular pop songs. The dancing was hilarious and at times impressive. There was a lot of gyrating. Today I was actually supposed to be the judge for the comedor Olympics as well, but it just turned into a few of us watching the boys play soccer.
Tomorrow my plan is to bike to the water treatment plant in Limpio, where they have a really impressive and large vegetable garden. They told me that they don’t have any gardening manuals to give out to people in the community who want to transplant in their personal or community gardens so I found a bunch in the Peace Corps Office and am bringing them in tomorrow to see what we want to cut and paste. I’m also hoping that I can help organize this gardening project and help do the charlas about how to have the best garden possible. (I know little about gardening but luckily the manuals are thorough and I’m a fast learner.) And I’m really hoping that I can develop a good relationship with this place so that I can possibly get some free veggies out of it. If I got free veggies weekly for the next 16 months life would be stupendous! (I’m not a vegetarian but I really dislike touching raw meat and so essentially just have a vegetarian kitchen.) We’ll see how that goes.
Anyway, that is basically my life right now. I’m planning on doing a world map project where I paint 2 big world maps on walls in my barrio with kids. I’m also kind of doing a camp at the comedor a couple of times a week but I play with the kids so frequently it doesn’t change too much. On a very different note, thanks to my inability to no and not thinking things through, I am now the (sometimes) proud owner of a dog named (translated from Guarani) Two Ears. I have a love-hate relationship with this dog. I’ve been in charge of her for a little less than a month. The kids love her but are now getting rough, and I’m just waiting for her to bite one of them. Although some of them may deserve to be bitten—this kid Alexander bit me twice today and I think tomorrow will bring bruises. It also makes me feel like a bit of an idiot to be wandering around my neighborhood yelling “Two! Two!” To end, I’ll just say that I don’t hear many new Paraguayan beliefs at this point in my service, though I did hear one today. A girl wanted to take a picture of my dog with her cell phone but one of the mothers stopped her, saying that if you take a picture of any animal it will die three months later. I was given an example—one woman took a photo of her dog and it died three months later when it was hit by a car.

Happy Holidays!

1-06-2010!

Merry Christmas, Happy New Year and Happy Engagement to a certain favorite couple of mine as well!! This year has certainly been unlike any other holiday season of my life, but it was enjoyable nonetheless. I’ve been slightly reflective the past few days, mostly thanks to the fact that I’ve been sick and spent much of that time laying in bed feeling sorry for myself but happily watching a great deal of Gossip Girl (thanks, Mimi and Matthew) and It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia (thanks PC amigos). I went to the doctor yesterday after a few nights of rushing to the bathroom nearly hourly, fever, and general ache to find out I have a gastro-intestinal infection which can be cured by antibiotics. (About a month ago a PC friend of mine got sick and was given antibiotics. He looked in Where There is No Doctor, a book all PCVs are given that explains what you should do about just about any sickness or injury if you are stranded in the middle of nowhere. It is some of the best entertainment ever with extremely detailed drawings and descriptions, though I do NOT recommend looking through it when you’re sick or you’ll quickly turn into a hypochondriac. Regardless, in Where There is No Doctor, my friend saw that the prescribed antibiotic treats gonorrhea. I, obviously, ridiculed him to no end for receiving gonorrhea medication. Karma wins again—I was given the same. Please note: I generally don’t think STDs are comical.)

So, going back to my holiday season… I went with some friends to another PCV’s site for Christmas. He lives in basically the middle of Paraguay, in the middle of the campo (read: boonies). The first night (the 23rd) we visited some neighbors and then had some Paraguayans over for some boxed wine and cola. There was yet another Paraguayan woman who told me that you can peel the bellies of 7 frogs to make a stew that cures cancer. I convinced a bunch of teenagers that Barbara (my PCBFF) won American Idol and kisses frogs hoping to turn them into princes. Paraguayans are disgusted by this—they are disgusted by frogs and claim that their urine, if it somehow gets into your eye, will blind you. So, this may sound ridiculous but I really don’t know if this is true or not. Luckily it seems unlikely that I will ever figure this out since I find it difficult to imagine a time in which frog’s urine will be anywhere near my eyes. Once everyone left we made a midnight feast (Babs and I hadn’t eaten all day) that involved about a pound of ground beef, a pound of spaghetti, and random seasonings. Barbara cooked. It tasted exactly like Hamburger Helper. The stars this night were beyond anything I have ever seen in my life—I had no idea that there were that many stars in the sky to be seen.

Fast forward to Christmas Eve, the following day. Another PCV (Little Anne) and her brother from the states arrived. We spent most of the day, as well as the afternoon before in fact, playing BananaGrams, which is possibly the best game ever. Ever. Whoever you are, you should invest in this wonderful game—it is like Scrabble but quicker, more portable and involves less patience. In the evening we went to some neighbor’s houses despite the fact that the electricity had gone out. We arrived caroling in English. They were obviously extremely impressed with our perfectly harmonized angelic voices. We sat around drinking clerico, which is essentially the Paraguayan version of sangria and the typical holiday drink here. (Having trouble imagining yourself sitting by the fire on Christmas Eve sipping sangria? Please remember, it was a super humid 100°. Sitting still we were all glistening with sweat.) The strange thing about the clerico here is that everyone drinks it—including children. The youngest son is 6 and apparently has developed a habit of drinking by himself with some frequency. I honestly can’t begin to imagine the sort of damage that does to a 6 year old brain. Anyway, in sobriety the day before this 6 year old was happily showing off his firework skills for me while we chatted with his parents. He also visited us at our friend’s house, and began openly flirting with me. You know, the usual 6-year-old way…by spitting on and hitting me. Anyway, after apparently having a few glasses of liquid courage, he was getting more direct and his parents (and my friends) thought it hilarious that he was so enamored. The lights still hadn’t come on so we all sat in the moonlight chatting. Finally we went to another neighbor’s house (caroling again) to see their nativity scene, which is more like a bunch of branches with lights, candy, fruit, and miscellaneous objects woven throughout that shelter a small nativity scene blocked by watermelons. At this point the electricity hadn’t been on for hours, though we had been told that all of the state’s electricity is turned off briefly on Christmas Eve every year because Paraguayans use too much power during this time of year. (Originally they said only a half hour though, so…) The lights finally came back on and we headed back to the original house where we danced briefly then sat down for dinner. Unfortunately, once again the lights went out. The oldest son was put in charge of holding the flashlight over the picnic table. I was seated at the head of the table and for some reason the light didn’t stop spotlighting me throughout the meal. Unidentifiable meat, mandioca (Paraguay’s potato) sopa Paraguaya (cornbread-ish stuff), milanesa de pollo (country-fried chicken) were served alongside a fork and the dullest knife imaginable. As I sat in the spotlight attempting to cut the fat-meat from the bone, my new 6-year-old boyfriend sat down the table gnawing on his meat using only his hands while intently staring at me and making incredibly loud “num, num, num” noises. I’ve never had such trouble keeping a straight face at a meal before.

We left a bit before midnight, directly after our extremely late dinner. I assume that if you’re reading this, you know me, and so know of the Christmas Eve tradition that I have and am, admittedly, obsessed with. It is cheesy, I know, but I love it. The tradition is that on Christmas Eve a great deal of my mother’s side of the family (think 20-30 people) sit around, each with their own copy of Twas the Night Before Christmas, and read aloud, verse by verse, the entire book. The same jokes are made each year (i.e. “Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash” is followed by a great deal of vomiting noises) but there are always kids (and plenty of adults) to enjoy them. My parents had sent what was obviously a Twas the Night Before Christmas but I was instructed to open it on Christmas Eve. When we returned home, I did, and found a wonderful book in which various members of my family had recorded all the verses, except those on one page which my PC friends and I recorded. It was honestly the best gift I’ve ever received. And yes, I’ve admitted that this is super nerdy, but I loved it so thanks to everyone involved.

For Christmas itself we woke up to find that there was no running water (and thought this, too, may be a Paraguayan tradition). We lounged, talked about the menu for the day, talked to our respective families on Skype, BananaGrammed, and talked more about the day’s feast. The problem, we found, was that none of us were particularly motivated to cook, possibly because we ate cheese, crackers, pepperoni and brownies early on. In the end we had a Christmas dinner at about 8pm of pepper jelly, two baked chickens, salad, mashed potatoes, and wine-and-soda. And our dinner was actually a picnic, where we sat outside on a blanket under Christmas lights strung between two trees. After dinner more Paraguayans joined us as we dazzled them with our phenomenal Christmas carol skills.

The next day we said our goodbyes and went to wait for the bus on the main road. Our bus time estimates were poor, however, and we all burned severely as the midday sun beat down on our backs and the pavement. Also, the bus was too crowded for each of us to have a seat in the 4 hour stretch back to the capital. Luckily I was in a front seat with enough leg room for Little Anne to sit on the floor in front of me, my knees on her shoulders, bandanas making sure there was no skin-to-skin contact on that crowded, hot, air-conditionless bus. New Years was fun and the company grand but not especially notable otherwise. And there was my holiday season. I hope that yours was half as phenomenal and nowhere near as sweaty!

Like a Virgin (of Caacupe)

12-15-09
Like a Virgin

I’ve been sitting at the airport customs office for the past four hours. I wish I was exaggerating this number but am simply not. My lovely parents mailed me a Christmas package via DHL and I was sent here to retrieve it. I paid 115,000 Guaranís ($22) at the DHL office. Now I’m waiting while a woman runs around to gain the right signatures necessary to let me have the package. I’ve seen my box twice—one time to verify that it was the correct box, the second time to open it and pull out a book to claim it was only books inside. This is not true but the woman told me we had to lie to minimize the tax. (I think that it is so we avoid having to bribe both her and her boss…) I’m actually lucky to get it today. A friend had to come back to the airport 4 times (!) to get a box a few months ago. Yikes. I’ll end up paying this woman another 150,000Gs ($30). To put this in perspective, I pay $40 a month in rent. Good God, this process is exhausting, but I’m sure it’ll be a fabulous package! Please note: If you want to send a Peace Corps Paraguay Volunteer a package, claim it is less than $100 to avoid this absurdity.

A week ago I did the holy walk to Caacupe to honor the Virgin of Caacupe. Another PCV, David, called the day before to ask if I was going and see if he could join my community. I had plans to walk with the younger of my two youth groups. David came over as I tried to get a solid timeline as to when we were leaving from my youth gropu. After many calls (including mostly llamada perdidas or missed calls where they call and hang up so I’ll call back and it’s free for them) I still had no solid answer. David and I decided not to wait around any longer. We got on the bus from my neighborhood at 9pm. It was full of teenagers who were prepared to celebrate this holiest of Paraguayan holidays. We were standing with our bags chock full of water bottles and other survival necessities (extra socks, bandaids, towel to sit on, etc.). Then, on this holy bus ride, the kids began to yell and catcall anyone we passed. They heckled each other and even set off fireworks—all while packed on the bus! I was feeling closer to God and the Virgin already.

After the hour and a half bus ride on our feet, we reached Ypacaraii and bid farewell to our new teenage amigos for a quick stop to assure we started the trek off right—with a bathroom break and a beer. We began to walk with the throng. While estimates vary widely, I was told about 50,000 people make the hike each year. The problem with starting so late, I guess, is that the night crowd is rowdy and doesn’t seem as concerned with the Virgin as it does with flirting, heckling, catcalling, and generally being teenagers away from their parents for an entire night. We walked for 5 hours all told—stopping only for a brownie sundae at the best American-type food place in the country and for me to push a big mill thing in order to squeeze the juice from sugar cane. Basically there are two men who push two logs clockwise. The entire machine is made of wood only. I asked if I could try. There are some sweet photos that I’ll link whenever David puts them up. The juice is not very good but the uphill hike seemed much easier after pushing against the mill for a few minutes. We walked most of the way with two Paraguayan guys we met. People were selling chipa (dry cornbread-like traditional food), hotdogs, meat on a stick (always), Virgin memorabilia (including a plastic hat with the Virgin AND a 2010 calendar on it, obviously). Everyone opens their houses up to sell bathroom privileges, food, and ground space to sleep. There were thousands of people sleeping on the sides of the road and all through the main plaza. It was incredible to see. Very luckily, we were able to stay at a PCV friend’s friend’s house so I got about two hours of sleep in a bed and a few more on the bare floor. The next morning while most people went to one of the hourly masses, we bought egg sandwiches and I watched as two other PCVs sang Madonna’s Like a Virgin on the karaoke machine. Nothing says Catholicism like Madonna, right?

I also started a mini-camp at the comedor last week. For much of summer break, on Mondays and Wednesdays I’m teaching English and playing games with the kids. I played a fabulous English-teaching version of Monkey-Fire with the kids which was a definite hit. Then I went to help teach games and icebreakers to the newest group of volunteers on their last day of training. I taught the usual crowd pleasers—Gaga, Monkey Fire, Fire People, Everybody Wins Musical Chairs… OK, I didn’t finish this blog, but did finally get that phenomenal package…