Feliz Acción de Gracias!

So once again I'm writing this on the fly, so don't expect any great work of literature.

My portable modem thing has been broken for nigh on two months now, and I've been nigh on flat dirt broke, so internet access has been difficult to come by. My host brother knew about this whole North Korea thing before I did, and everyone is asking me for details, which I cannot supply. (Not that I've really been that connected with the world at large anyway... the last movie I've heard about being in theatres is "Alice in Wonderland.")

So, here's a quicky update on what's going on in Ka'itá, Paraguay.

Summer vacation doesn't technically start until Tuesday, the 30th, but in all reality there hasn't been class for the last three weeks. The past week and a half has been "exam week", and now that that's over very few kids come to school at all. (In fact, even during exam week a lot of kids didn't come. They know they won't fail. I've suspected for a long time that the grades my school submits to the ministry are all fabricated. I'm almost positive now.) Up until now, working at the school has been nothing short of miserable. The kids are great, for the most part. There's a small group of *@#%s, but I suppose that's normal in any school. It was the teachers and the principle that were getting me down. For a long time I thought that it must be something that I was doing wrong. Did I come on too strong? Have I been committing some kind of cultural taboo that I am unaware of? Have I just not been trying hard enough? Well, the more I thought about it, and the more advice I asked from my host family, neighbors and other PC volunteers and staff, I've realized that it really is as I had most feared. It's not me, it's them. You see, if it is something that I am doing wrong, then I can change and fix it. But if it is them, then I'm kind of stuck. (I must mention here, that there IS one good teacher in the school. The fourth grade teacher, who has family in Ka'itá, is a good teacher who is genuinely concerned with his students. It's a shame that the other teachers are just as awful to him as they are to me.)

Paraguayans are, in general, very open and friendly people. I hear that said about nearly every people of every land, but it's often true. If your glass is half full, maybe you could even call it human nature. But my coworkers in this school are unmistakably cold, closed and occationally downright malicious. I'm not the only one who thinks this. In all the time I've lived in this community, I've never heard a single good thing said about the school. Especially since none of the teachers are actually from the community, they don't have any interest whatsoever in its wellbeing. I even had one teacher answer, being asked about the high student illiteracy rate, answer without blinking "Well it isn't my kid." Wow. Just... wow.

I have left behind the notion that my evident failure in this school is my fault. I have really done the best that I am capable of doing. I have come to a decision that I long feared, but has to be made. Even my supervisor pressed me to make this choice. I am not returning to the Ka'itá school next year. To be clear, I am not changing sites, but I am going to be traveling to other nearby schools, whose teachers are willing to utilize what I have to offer. True, I will have quite a strenuous bike ride ahead of me every morning at 6:30 am. (For those of you who know me well... well,... yeah that's gonna be hard.) But I am willing to put in the extra effort in order to work where I am welcome.

Ever since I made this decision, everything is different. It's like I just took an enourmous deep breath of fresh air after slowly suffocating in a tiny, dark airtight box. The rest of my service, which previously looked rather dreadful and bleak, now looks hopeful. I am actually quite excited for the next stage in my service. The closest school to me is San Antonio, but that is a rather well-to-do school with good teachers, so while I will likely be working with them sometimes, I doubt they will be my main focus. A bit further away, but still within an hour's bike ride is Acosta Ñu. I have visited this school before, and met several of the teachers. They are already good teachers, but were none-the-less eager to work with me. Reaching this school (which requires riding up and down several enormous hills on unpaved roads) and maintaining a presentable teacher-appearance upon arrival is virtually impossible, but I'm sure I will find a solution. The preschool and third grade teachers seem particularily interested in working with me. I see many possibilities here, that may (MAAAAY) even spill over into Ka'itá, if I'm lucky.

Apart from Acosta Ñu, I am also looking at working in two other schools that are closer to Oviedo, some 15 km to the west. Escuela María Auxiliadora is as poor a school as I've ever seen. The parents, after years of not receiving promised government funds, built the school themselves out of scraps of wood, plastic sheeting and corrogated tin. Two large rooms hold six grades, and their bathroom is a hold in the ground under a three-walled shack with no running water. I met the Director and some of the teachers, and they were very welcoming and curious as to what my work entails.

The second school I have yet to see. My host family has ten children, but only one daughter. This daughter, Reina, is a teacher in an asentamiento in a barrio of Oviedo. ("Asentamiento" translates roughly to "slum" or "shanty town".) She is a wonderful teacher, and mother of an exceptionally bright four-year-old girl, Estrella, who thinks that brown is the most beautiful color. Reina asked if I could come work in her school as well, and of course I agreed.

I have also just three days ago started a fogón project. A fogón is a type of brick oven with a stovetop, an oven and a chimney. The majority of families in my site, including my own, cook their meals over an open fire on the ground. This causes two main problems: first of all, these families, especially the mothers, spend their whole lives cooking in smoking kitchens, causing chronic eye and respiratory problems. Nearly all the moms in my site have a kind of puffy, yellow scarring on the sclera, or whites of their eyes. Second, all of their food that is not boiled is fried. Obesity, heart disease and high blood pressure are all considered normal, since it is next to impossible to prepare healthy food that is safe to eat on an open fire. Even though building fogons is considered a "Health Sector" project, my community needs it, and I have already talked to a dozen families who are interested in participating. Early last week I talked to the current mayor of Oviedo, and the newly-elected incoming mayor, and they are both very interested in supporting my project. I am starting with building 11 ovens in the poorest area of my site, but I intend on constructing between 40 and 50 fogons in Ka'itá, Santa Lucía and La Victoria by the end of my service. With nearly the promised support of the mayor (and they have supported volunteers in the past) this is a very exciting project.

It's a wonderful thing to feel able and powerful again. I am not going to abandon the Ka'itá school, since I do have one great teacher, several wonderful students, and a personal, moral obligation to the place, but there are so many other schools and communities who need – and WANT – my help! Even though I have been a volunteer for almost seven months now, I feel like my real service is just beginning.

It is beginning to turn into summer here in Paraguay (southern hemisphere and all), which means that it's starting to get hot. I was actually surprised that, for a few weeks in winter, it actually got "cold". I say "cold" because back home in Michigan I would hardly consider 50 derees F as exactly cold. The big difference is, however, that in Michigan I can take a nice fall-weather walk breathing the crisply pleasant, earthy-smelling air, then go back inside. Here, inside and outside are the same, so there's really no escaping the temperature, especially at night when it gets down into the 40's and ocassionally the 30's. There were a few nights when I couldn't sleep through my shivering, despite wearing all the clothes I owned under 3 blankets. But that is now a thing of the past-- at least until next year.

Now it's springtime, turning into summer, and school is starting to wind down. Summer vacation doesn't technically start for several more weeks yet, but considering school usually gets out only half-way or so through the 4-hour day, skimming a few weeks off the end of the year doesn't seem too far amis.

Work in the school is still as challenging as ever. I've been doing some work with my elementary school kids, and while my teachers don't exactly block my efforts anymore, they still coldly refuse to offer any support whatsoever, and this can get discouraging. It doesn't really hurt me in any way, but the ones who are REALLY losing are the kids, so if the teachers refuse to benefit, so be it -- I will bypass their chill indifference and work directly with the students. It may not be very sustainable, but it is better than doing nothing. So I'm going to go ahead with my tooth-brushing charla tomorrow, and hand-washing on monday, despite what the teachers think or say. At least then these little monkies climbing all over me every day will be somewhat clean and have better breath! Who said that community development can't also be self-serving?

The World Map project is progressing slowly, but slow is what I'm going for. Before starting to paint the map itself, there is a lot of work and planning to be done. First, we have to raise the money for the paint. That's going rather well; we've already bought plaster and patched the numerous holes in the wall, and we have almost enough to buy the paint. Technically, we have enough for the paint, but not the supplies, and we need to keep a budget to fund the fundraisers we have every other week or so. I think by the end of October we will have all the necessary funds.

But money is only one part of it. I'm also teaching a "mini-class" twice a week about what a map is, what it's used for, and some very basic geography concepts. At the start, I showed the kids a globe, and several maps from an atlas, and they couldn't even tell me what these colorful objects were supposed to represent, much less distinguish north from south or oceans from land. It's a tricky thing trying to explain such a large-scale, abstract topic to middle-school kids with basically no exposure to such ideas (and especially to the ones who can't read), but we HAVE made progress. The association of "blue-means-water" was not very difficult for most of the kids, although the concept of an "ocean" is still rather foreign. (Paraguay is landlocked, after all.) North and south were easy, though they still confuse east and west sometimes. A few of my students are starting to grasp the idea of different continents and countries, and even think about why borders are they way they are. Most of them can now identify North and South America, and that Asia is "the big one". We have "find-the-country" races, and we've started doing some veeery basic trivia games, though those are still pretty hard. I'm trying to work them up towards a modified "Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego?" type game! (Or perhaps "Moöpa yvýpe oñeñongatu Carmen Sandiégogui?")

We have several more weeks of "Comité del Mapa" meetings before starting the actual painting, but it's great that my students are actually excited about it, and are starting to take, if not quite leadership yet, at least tenative ownership of the project. This is the whole point. Geography is an important and fun topic to learn about (and teach!), but the real goal here is giving the kids something they can be proud of, and the tools necessary to realize their own "projects" in the future, whatever those may be. After all, these kids are going to be the ones to change Paraguay, not me.

Turning tides

Several days ago, all of us from G-32, my training group, received an email from the office entitled "Got the PCV Blues at site?" Our new Programming and Training Officer sent us the note, describing the common "6 month nose dive" that volunteers often experience. Many volunteers feel like they "aren't doing anything" or that what they are doing isn't effective or useful. I suppose that I have felt a little bit of this from time to time, but on the other hand, I am only just starting to do after 4 months what most volunteers do right away when they get to their sites. So in a way I am still just beginning.

Here's the scoop. My school is still a mess. The Directora (or principal) got her job through political connections or family, as she is clearly unqualified for the position. Until I got there, her job was easy. Sit around and gossip with the other teachers all day, ignore the kids, and collect the pay check. The grades they submit to the Supervision in Oviedo are completely fabricated, to make their kids look pretty damn smart. Then they made a mistake: the 2nd grade teacher wrote the request to have a Peace Corps Volunteer come and work in the school. Before I got there, he thought that I was going to come in and teach the 2nd grade full time, so that he could keep getting paid for doing even less work than he already does. Well, that's not my job. When they found out that I was trained to teach the teachers how to do their work more effectively (emphasis on the word "work"), they wanted nothing to do with it. The Directora made it her personal mission to make everything I do difficult. She would interrupt my model lessons in the class, shoot down every learning game I started up, and got the kids back to copying already completed math problems off the board. When I asked to use one of the classrooms for an event I was planning, she said "yeah, sure, I don't care", then told all the other teachers that she actually wasn't going to let me, but not to tell me because she wanted to wait until the day before my event to pull the rug out from under me. (Fortunately, not all of my co-workers are horrible people, so I got a tip-off and was able to find another venue. Then the event got rained out anyway. Oh well.) So this was what I was having to work with up until now.

One afternoon my host brother knocked on my door to tell me that he had good news, and bad news. The bad news was that 5 of the Directora's family members were killed in a brutal car accident so horrendous that made the national news. This is an unfortunate tragedy, and no one, no matter how nasty they are, deserves something like this. I would never wish anything like this to happen to anyone. But the good news was that she wouldn't be in school for at least a month. (I actually doubt she will be coming back for the rest of the school year.)

School was canceled for several days, but when I came in on the first day it started up again, the atmosphere was very different. The teachers talked to me, without rolling their eyes or simply turning and walking away mid-sentence. I didn't get kicked out of any classrooms. I actually scheduled 4 model lessons for the next few weeks, and actualized them without a hitch. There was no back-stabbing, no plotting and no evil chisme. (There always will be chisme (gossip), but but it is no longer malicious, which is quite a relief.) All that patience and perseverance has finally begun to pay off.

My home base at the school is the Sala de Apoyo, or the "Help Room" where kids go for extra help in their studies during the half of the day when they don't have class. (Paraguayan kids only go to school for 4 hours a day, and recess usually takes up about 3 of the 4 hours, so these kids need a lot of help.) I try to have a plan for each day, but the plan usually changes as soon as I arrive. For example, today the plan was to solidify the schedule for my Reading club and English club, and to take some initial steps for forming a Youth Action Committee, but when I arrived in the school I ended up teaching the concepts of area and volume to a quiet 3rd grade boy who's answer for everything was "4 centimeters".

I was, however, able to catch two of my star students, Fátima and Miguelito, and get them excited about the World Map Project that we've been talking about for weeks. I was about to suggest starting a kind of fund-raiser to collect the 200 mil (around $40 USD) we need for the supplies, when Fátima pulls a half-used book of raffle tickets out of her backpack. She tells me proudly that they've already raised 19 mil by selling the tickets to raffle off 6 wine-bottle-glasses I had helped them make the week before. I was so pleased with her initiative that I bought two. We have nearly 10% of our goal, and we haven't even had the first meeting yet!

Tomorrow afternoon will be the first meeting of the map-making committee. We will discus why (and if) we want a big map in the Sala de Apoyo, what we want to learn with this project, and why it is important. We will come up with a name for the committee, and if there is time, elect a president, vp, secretary and treasurer. I expect to have around 10 or 15 students between 4th-9th grades show up.

Next week I have a meeting with the Parent's commission to discus possible community projects we want to undertake during Summer Vacation, which lasts from December to February. I am not as sure what to expect from that meeting, but with a little help from my Paraguayan friends in the school I think it will be productive. Or at least help pave to the way to a future productive meeting. New concepts and new attitudes are very difficult for Paraguayans, especially older adults, to accept, and they may be somewhat reticent at first, but any little step in the right direction is a small victory.

Future blog posts will hopefully be filled with pictures of smiling kids smudged with paint standing in front of a partially-completed world map, but until then I will leave you with just a few photos of where I live.

(Edit: Okay so my internet at home is too slow to upload photos. But I'll get them on here sometime soon, I promise!)

A lil something to chew on. Or probably ignore.

Well hello again! I promise I'm dead or maimed.

I know haven't updated in quite a while, but I deny negligence or procrastination as the culprit, as I have been bee-busy. I promise to update with a exhaustive (hopefully not exhausting) account of what I've been up to in the past month and a half, but for now I'll just give you a little Masterpiece Theatre moment of what is possibly my biggest challenge here in Paraguay:

GUARANÍ.

Below is an extract from a book that I bought from a greasy, unshaven man at the bus terminal several weeks back. (Though I must admit that I was a bit greasy and unshaven myself at the time of purchase.) The book is all about Paraguayan Folklore. It is written in "Guaraní Guaraní" on one page, and Spanish on the opposite.

This is the myth of the Pombero, a very strong cultural phantasm that makes even adults nervous when it begins to get dark out...

~~~~~

Pombero rehegua:

Pombéro ningo tuicha ikurundu ha puéicha rupi ikatu ñanembotavy. Sapy'ánte oĩ ñande ypyetépe hína ha ni nañamalisiái hese. Odipara jave ndaipóri ohupyty va'erã chupe, ku yvytúicha ndajapillái mba'éichapa ova oĩhágui. Oha'ãngakuaaiterei enterove guyrápe, ha upéicha jave ndajaikuaái voi mavaitévapa la ha'etéva. Katu umi animal oikuaa chupe. Ohendúramo oñe'ẽ karai Pombéro ijapytepekuéra, ha'ekuéra oñemokirirĩetéma haitýpe.

Pombéro ndaje ijaukueterei ha haguepaite ipopyte entéro voi. Heta lája virtu voi ndaje oguereko, ha upéicha rupi ikatu oiko oimeraẽva mba'érmo. Sapy'ánte oiko chegui mbopi, guyra, yvyra rapokue térã yvyra matakue hamba'e. Ipypore ndojekuaái voi, ha'e ndohejaséiramo. Ára vai hamba'éramo ndaje oike ogakue guýpe térã tatakuápe okañy, ãga ohasa peve ára pochy. Peichahárupi oĩ he'íva ohechaha ichupe: isombréro piri guasu ndaje ha ikasõ revi guejy, oje'e hese. Hakatu hasy hína upéva, si ha'e iko'ẽmbáta hamba'éramo, Oikónte chugui karáncho ha oveve karape guasu ohóvo.

Jajehayhuka hag̃uã Pombéro ndaje jaheja va'erã chupe cada pyhare, ñemiháme, petỹ hũ inakorã, ryguasu rupi'a ha kañami angu'ápe. Upéva ndaje ombovy'aiterei chupe ha ãga upéi ha'e oguerúma avei la irregálo, péicha eíra panal, yva ka'aguy hamba'e oheja la iñamígo róga rokẽme. Avei oñangareko enterove hogagua rehe, ani hag̃uã itie'ỹva oja tei hese.

Ha la ipochýramo dnaje, ipochýma. Sapy'ánte la iñamígo hesaráiramo ha ndohejái chupe la angu'apegua, Pombéro ipochýma handive. Osẽ jave, opersegíma chupe: omoĩ ita guasu hamba'e hapépe térã odesatina chupe ka'aguyha rupe. Péicha ipochy jave ndaje, ñahendu guyra vaicha operere la ijerépe ha upéi opoíma mba'e ne.

Upéicha Pombéro ipochy jave ndaje, pe máva nosẽi na'erã ogueraha'ỹre reve voi. Upévagui añoite ndaje Pombéro okyhyje.

~~~~~

Now wasn't that exciting? I certainly thought so, for the 60% or so that I understood. (You can read about the Pombero in English on Wikipedia, though no internet source I have come across quite matches what Paraguayans have told me.) Just wait until you hear about the Kurupí. ;)

This selection was (almost) entirely in Guaraní Guaraní, or "Pure Guaraní". In reality, very few people speak "pure" Guaraní, or even really understand it. Most people speak Jopará, a mixture of Spanish and Guaraní. (The very word jopara means "to mix" in Guaraní.) The relative Guaraní-to-Spanish ratio really depends on a lot of things, including who is speaking, what they're talking about, and if they want you to understand or not. I have experienced this last aspect quite a bit. People who know that I won't understand them if they speak very quickly and in Guaraní nte will often use this tool to their advantage. Oy!

My site is very rural, and the majority of the community is either very old, or very young. People of "productive age" tend to move out of Ka'itá to go get jobs in Cnl. Oviedo or Asunción. Therefore, I hear very little Spanish on a day to day basis. True, most of my neighbors at least understand Spanish, and quite a few speak it quite well, but unless they're talking to the 'dumb americano', the Colonial Language is very rarely used in pleasant conversation.

BUT my Guaraní is improving. Not very rapidly, but any improvement is a victory. Guaraní requires that you think backwards – a mental exercise that will hopefully save me from Alzheimer's in the second half of this century. It also requires that I listen carefully not only to what is said, but to why and how they say it. Every word is a rabbit hole, with two, three, four or more meanings depending on the context. Most of them are dirty. I have made quite a few embarrassing/hilarious mistakes.

Language barriers are always a problem, in nearly any international context. But let me tire you now with a very old adage that is so very, very true: "Actions speak louder than words."

All of my students know that I am "tavy" (stupid/crazy/ignorant). Yet when I come to school every day, I see so much excitement! They ask when we're going to play math bingo, or do a teamwork exercise, or play "Escalera de la Muerte" (basically, hangman), or any other activity or game I have prepared for them! And my teachers have definitely noticed.

Patience and perseverance.

Rain and Señor Murphy are in cahoots

Rain is made of water. We are made of water, mostly. Our skin is waterproof, we don't melt in wanter and germs give you the flu, not water. So why is rain such a big deal for Paraguayans? Absolutely NOTHING happens here when it rains. Businesses close, school is closed, appointments are canceled and the only people out of doors are the homeless and a few hardy farmers in their chacras.

Usually, I don't mind this cultural quirk. In fact I rather enjoy it; I have time to plan tomorrow's English lesson, read one of my books, study Guaraní, or just chat with the family (aka. study Guaraní) in the smokey kitchen while chicks and dogs look up at me, eyes begging. Rainy days are home days. Days to relax and do your thing. Maybe this is why Paraguayans don't plan things. "Ikatu, otro día, puede ser mañana." (Could be, another day, maybe tomorrow.)

Well jeez. I'm American and I plan things. I have contingency plans. I have contingency contingency plans. I set goals and have semi-flexible schedules that I try to follow. I have expected outcomes and follow-up plans to build on my progress, aiming to achieve new heights of development and eventually save the world. What could be more Peace Corps than that?

My Health Camp was all planned: I folded, cut and stitched 45 damn booklets for the kids to record their progress and take home to show their families. Michelle kuña (or Michelle 1, as my host mom calls her) was all prepared to make friendship bracelets and do all kinds of other activities with the kids during craft time. Michel hombre (aka Michel 2) had written 5 wonderful, and actually very catchy songs about hand washing, tooth brushing and how you can't play and have fun when you're full of parasites. We practiced them in my house, and a few hours later I heard my host dad singing a little song to himself about drinking milk for healthy bones and teeth. I smiled.

And then it rains.

The weather report predicted rain on my origional start day. (The camp was scheduled to go for 3 mornings in succession.) But I was a clever one and made an "in case of rain" plan for the following week. It rained then too. My third desesperación day was rained out as well. Not only rainy, but cold. Lots of my kids don't have warm jackets, some don't have shoes. Rather than plan yet another back up, go around and tell the kids and parents, and then have it rain again, forever dooming the reliability of my plans, I decided to put it off until a more secure date.

And then, el Señor Murphy, High Lord of irony, makes his move. Winter vacation was extended for another week, and the weather is BEAUTIFUL. I almost considered reinitiating the now-defunct Health Camp, but unfortunately none of my would-have-been coworkers can make it to help me out, and really truely, I need a vacation. Time to dive into that novel again, practice my Guaraní, and fall asleep after lunch in my hammock.

Quote of the day: (Upon gazing down a tube of wrecked and mutilated Pringles) "What the (heck), do they air drop these things into Paraguay?!"

And now for your enjoyment, and because I have extra time, I will attempt to write part of this blog post in Guaraní.

Ama ha'e y. Ñande ha'e y, ma o meno. Ñande pire y'ÿre, ndojajajorái ýpe, ha bichokuéra ojame'ë flúpe, nahánari la y. Upéicharö mba'érepa la y ombopy'apy heta Paraguayokuérape? Oky ramö, ndoroku'éi nte! Ñemuhakuéra omboty, mbo'ekoty omboty, ndaipóri mba'e. Kokuehára nte osë ógagui.

Wow, astudia hína heta la guaraní, ma ihasy gueterei! Pero kuehe antendi kuri che peteïha conversación guaraníme! Woo!

Not dead! Not dead!

About a month ago my internet decided to go belly-up, and I haven't gotten it to work since. I live out in the campo campo, so I am [was] likely the only person with internet access in the whole village.

I usually like to post longer, more well-written entries, but I'm cruched for time so here's the bare bones:

My host family: Still amazing. I've been unofficially adopted. My host brothers are my age and really fun to hang out with. A few of my friends, both Paraguayans and other PCVs, have come to visit, and they all agree that I have pretty much the most awesome living situation in all existence. So what if I don't have running water, a shower or a bathroom? Those are all secondary luxuries anyway.

My school: Even worse than before. The teachers told me flat out that they don't want to work with me. Their reasoning: "We're too busy." (Heh, doing what?) Only if I pay them for my time and services. I could go on for hours about the rediculous disaster that is my school, but I spare you. Despite the terrible leadership and staff, the kids in the school love me, and the other volunteers (from another Pguayan org, not PC) are great people and have been great support.

My community: It's still a bit difficult to meet people, since almost everyone is a farmer, and they're out in the fields all day. I'm getting to know people little by little, however, by attending community meetings, going places with my host brothers, and stopping for random tereré sessions with old men on my way home from work.

My Guaraní: My Guaraní is so-so. It's difficult, but I'm learning a little big more every day. My family speaks pretty much only Guaraní, so I hear it A LOT when we're chatting together. I even bought this cool bi-lingual (Esp-Gni) book about Guaraní mythology that I've been using to study. [Che guaraní ma o meno... avañe'ë hasy, pero aprende hína michimi cada ára. Che família oñe'ë guarani nte, upéicharö ahendu heta ñañemongeta jave che família ndive. Ajogua avei peteï kuatia moköi-ñe'ëha ñe'ëgua'u rehe astudia hagua.]

Other news: It is winter vacation in the schools right now. For the winter break, I've been organizing a 3-day long "Health Camp" for the kids. I'm working with 2 other PCV's (Michelle from Urban Youth and Kristen from Health), 2 Paraguayan volunteers from the BETEL organization, and a Paraguayan friend from Asunción. My Paraguayan friend is a music teacher from Asunción, and he has re-written the boring PC health songs to make them "more Paraguayan". I just heard them yesterday, and they're really awesome! We're going to spend one day on tooth-brushing, one day on hand-washing, and the last day on sevo'i, or intestinal parasites, which are a big problem here. We're using activities, games, songs and sports to teach the subject material, rather than the typical "silent copying off the board" method.

I've also been teaching English classes at the school two days a week. I don't think that learning English is actually very important for the kids, but it is at LEAST a way for me to get them to open up a little bit and start taking an active role in their education. It is also gives me an indirect way to show the teachers how much better the kids learn when they participate rather than just copy. Thirdly it's a way for me to help the kids try and catch up a little bit to what their grade level should be. That's hard. I tried to teach counting in English to a bunch of 5th graders... then realized that they didn't know how to count at all. That was sad, but in 2 hours they could count to ten in both English AND Spanish! This is more than they learned in 6 years of class in this school. THAT'S how bad it is.


Those are the headlines from this myserious "radio silence" period of June-July. I'll try to get my moden fixed this coming weekend, but I can't promise anything. I will post whenever I can, in greater detail, and in a more interesting fashion. I promise. :) Love you all, jajotopáta!

Okyeterei jey! Mba'ére?!

It has been raining almost non-stop for 3 days. This means that basically nothing happens, including school. So I've had the past few days off. I passed the time by reading my Paulo Coelho novel, making didactic materials, drinking maté and staring at the chickens in the yard. Chickens never cease to amuse me, and my family has perhaps thirty or so. There are also the cows, pigs, 6 dogs and 3 scrawny cats. There is always some kind of Animal Farm drama going on.

My running regimen has been pushed back slightly, by a nice case of patellaer tendinitis. So to stay active, I went and checked out a gym in Oviedo yesterday. It was a bit shabby, but that hardly phases me anymore. I worked out for a little over an hour, for a little over $1. After leaving the gym (still sweaty, as I found out they have no shower), I sat down at an empanada restaurant to read my book while I waited for my friend and fellow Volunteer Michelle to get into town. (A shout-out to Michelle's mom is in order here, I know you're reading!)

It had been threatening to rain all day, and it started to sprinkle. Then it started to rain. Then it started to downpour. It was already dark by 6 pm when Michelle called to tell me her bus had just gotten in. Since Oviedo has two bus terminals, I asked if she was at the one at the Cruce, or the one in the center of town. "The center, I think," she told me, which I was grateful for, because I was only a few blocks away and it was raining even harder. I walked quickly to the terminal without getting too wet, but everything was dark and closed. Uh oh. I called Michelle back and confirmed that she was, indeed, at the Cruce terminal. I decided to catch a bus. Oops, no more buses. Well, it looks like I'm going to have to walk the 15 blocks to the Cruce. I got directions from three unshaven men in greasy tshirts drinking maté, and set off. (Asking Latin men for directions is not always a good idea... in my experience, they WILL give you directions... even if they have no idea what they're talking about. Just to confirm I asked a little old lady in a 24-hour pharmacy the same question, and she pointed me in the right direction.)

And, impossibly, it started to rain harder. Despite my bum knee, I decided to suck up the pain and run the 15 blocks. I suppose that it wouldn't have really made a difference, since I was soaked through to the skin in under a minute anyway, but it did get me to the Cruce a little faster; 20 minutes instead of an hour. The knee doth protest too much, but I ignored it.

Rain thundered on the metal roof of the terminal as I hopped the low concrete wall surrounding the terminal and went to lonok for Michelle. I found her in the restaurant area, talking to an unshaven Paraguayan man in a greasy tshirt. (There is no lack of unshaven Paraguayan men in greasy tshirts here in Oviedo.) Señor Suave didn't stick around for long once I got there. He did, however, proceed to send one love-text after another to Michelle's phone from where he sat some 15 awkward feet away. Meanwhile, I wrung approximately 4 cups of water out of my sweatshirt.

After catching up for a while, and watching the last bus to my site come and go, we decided it was time to hail a cab and haul Michelle's bags to her new home. The only problem was, she didn't know exactly where that was. And the taxi driver was not familiar with her only point of reference: the elusive Burger Express. We drove around the dark, wet deserted streets of Oviedo for a good 10 minutes looking for Burger Express before we finally found what we were looking for. Down a dark, muddy dirt street we found Michelle's family's house.

We lugged her bags through a muddy yard inundated in 8 inches of water, and stood outside the locked gate of the dark, sleeping house. No phone number, and no one awake. It rained harder. Michelle walked around the house looking for a front door to knock on. At that moment, a neighbor girl noticed me standing in the downpour struggling to keep Michelle's 100-pound suitcase out of the water, and offered to call the family. A few minutes later, a light turned on, and a smiling little old lady beckoned me in and showed me where to put the bags down. Michelle came back around back, greeted her new host-mama with the traditional kiss on both cheeks, and all was well. I bid them goodnight, and walked back out into the rain.

We had asked the taxi to wait for me, so that he could take me back to my site, some 15 km outside of Oviedo towards Caaguazú. But there was a small problem. The giant mud puddles we'd had to drive through flooded the engine, which now refused to turn over. The driver asked me to get out a push so he could get a running start. Interesting fact: pushing a car with a bad knee is rather painful. Luckily a random dudeman walking down the street jumped in next to me and helped push the car until the engine sputtered to life. Thanking Señor Random Good Samaritan, I ran to jump into the moving vehicle before it could stall again. Now that we were moving, things went well... for about three blocks. The transmission blew. There's really not much you can do with a bum transmission. This taxi was now lamer than I was. Again, I had to get out and push so the driver could steer out of the main road unto a small side street. We were now stranded, in the rain, in the backstreets of Oviedo.

Fortunately the driver was able to call another taxi-driver friend to come get me and take me home. The new taxi driver was probably younger than me, and liked to drive very fast. Despite a hectic, suicidal 20-minute race down the Pan-American Highway – punctuated with terrifying games of "chicken" with oncoming 18-wheelers – I was finally back in Ka'itá. I showed the driver where to drop me off, thanked him, and walked... directly into a 18-inch deep, ad hoc lake that had collected 10 feet off the highway. This new development, despite conjuring a few juicy comments from my lips, really did not change my situation at all, since I was already about as wet as is possible without being actually submerged. I therefore made the executive decision to just go all Jesus on this lake and slog right through it. My shoes made rude squelchy noises the entire way home.

Home, I was finally home. I went to boil some water on the cooking fire, which thankfully was still smoldering, allowing me to stir up a healthy flame in no time. By some type of magical mom-radar (or perhaps the squelchy shoes) my host mom sensed my presence and came out to confirm that I was not dead. She was slightly shocked by my shipwrecked appearance, but was happy that I was home safe, unrobbed, unkidnapped, unmaimed and unlost. My water now boiling, I retired to my room to drink maté and collapse into my bed.

My clothes, hanging dripping on a rope strung across my room, are still wet. And it is still raining. I decided to stay in today.

Michelle owes me a beer.

Huh, dead end. Those kids must think I'm weird.

I went for a long run today, and it felt great.

Yesterday was a frustrating day at the school. Confronted with simple indifference from the teachers as to whether their kids are learning or not, I just didn't know how to react. I've been observing classes, and making a list of possible areas of improvement. My list is getting rather long. With so many challenges, it's hard to know where to start. Then again, I'm only in week 2 in my site, so I suppose I shouldn't rush things.

Today was less frustrating. I talked to a volunteer from another organization working in the school about the comonalities between our two two projects, and how we could work together to achieve those goals. There was no afternoon class, because this weekend is both Mother's Day and Paraguayan Independence Day, so there was a presentation with refreshments in lieu of class. The festivities lasted until around 3:30 in the afternoon.

After school I went home and got ready for my run. Another volunteer and I have agreed to train for a half-marathon in Asunción en August, so I've just started a training regimen. Day 1 was a bit less than I expected, but I'm just getting over a cold, and haven't run very much for the last couple of weeks, so I guess that was excusable. To make up for it, I went for a 15 km, 80 minute run today. It felt amazing. I also got to explore miles of... well, farmland and rocky hills. But I think if I run this same route a few times a week, I should be good and ready for August. A half-marathon is about 21 km, but if I can consistently run 15, I should be able to do it. My goal for the next month is to reduce my "2-min-walk-periods" from 5 to 2, while increasing my speed just sliiiightly.

By and large, I have found that Paraguayans find the concept of exercise very odd. I keep getting asked "Why are you running? Is something wrong?" I try to explain that I do it to stay healthy, and that it makes me feel good, but they usually get lost somewhere it there. Maybe my Guaraní/Spanish/Jopará is just bad.

Well, tomorrow is a rest day, then 15 km more on saturday morning! I miss running water and real coffee, but I miss you all more!

Swear-in, Asunción, and Arrival in site!

Part I: Swear-in

On Friday morning, all 46 PCT of training group G-32 got dressed to impress, said goodbye to our host families, and piled into a bus headed for Asunción. We navigated twisted streets to the Peace Corps office in the city center. Before we could enter the compound, the guards had to check the bus for bombs. (To me it seems like they should have checked for bombs before they stuffed us all on board, but maybe that's just me.) Once inside, we dropped off our remaining luggage and underwent another security check. After the security check we were vacuum-packed into another bus, from which nothing was allowed to enter or leave without security clearance, including hands and faces through windows. Leaving the Peace Corps office, the bomb-proof bus drove about 130 meters down the street to the American Embassy, where we were once more checked for bombs.

Stepping off that bus onto the embassy grounds was like finding Narnia in the back of a hot stuffy closet. The embassy is considered American soil, and no expense was spared to differentiate it from its Paraguayan substrate. Ornamental trees, flowers and cacti cast dappled shadows across a precisely manicured lawn, dotted here and there with fountains, statues and swimming pools. Air conditioners whirred in every window while peacocks scrutinized us cooly. At a word from the PC vice-director, we all found a seat on a shady patio set at just such an angle as to catch a slight breeze. Another fountain displaying a collection of painted ceramic frogs murmured lazily nearby. We were briefed on the proper way to greet the American Ambassador, and were ready to begin.

The Madam Ambassador was driven around to the podium from her office just a few meters away, for the sole purpose of making a show of getting out of the shiny, expensive Mercedes-Benz limousine. She sat at a small table with crystal pitchers of ice-water while Don Clark and Jason Cochran, the Director and Vice-director of the Peace Corps, gave short speeches. But when it came time for the Ambassador to speak, she was candid and eloquent, congratulating us once again for having made it this far.

Finally the moment had come. We raised our right hands, and repeated an arcane oath to serve and protect the United States of America (which I found incredibly ironic), and were officially sworn-in as full Peace Corps Volunteers. The ceremony was now closed, and we went to enjoy hours-d'ouvers in a nearby pavilion, but we all anxiously awaited the REAL moment of truth: The Cake.

We had all heard about The Cake. Former and current Volunteers had told us about The Cake. Our language and technical trainers, and even PCD Don Clark himself had been dropping hints about The Cake. This was apparently to be the dessert of a lifetime, the kind of sugary confection you tell your grandchildren about. And then there it was: the swelling mound of The Chocolate-Butter-Creamed-Dulce-de-Leche-Layered-Double-Chocolate Cake. Like the Arc of the Covenant (through slightly less face-melting), it would be impossible to describe this cake adequately. All I can say is that the cake-bar has been set at an Olympic hight.

Part II: Asunción

We returned to the Peace Corps office for some final administrative proceedings, including cell-phone and bank-card dispersal. A flurry of digit-switching later, we loaded up our junk into taxis and buses, and went to settle into our hotel for a weekend of celebratory excess.

You can find it all in Asunción: art galleries, cultural centers and libraries, clubs and fancy restaurants, markets and monuments, parks and parties. Since the motto of PCV-Swearing-In weekend is "what happens in Asunción stays in Asunción," I cannot disseminate the dirty details, but let it be said that it was a good time for everyone. I performed 2 songs another volunteer at the PC-sponsored Ahendu concert, to great peer-acclaim. At the Spanish Cultural Center I strolled an exhibit of art noir and browsed their library. I was even able to visit a music conservatory to mess around on the piano for the first time in months. Over the weekend I also got to know lots of really great people– other current PCV's, random Paraguayans, and several Japanese Volunteers from the Peace Corps' sister-organization in Asia.

On Monday night we had one last G-32 EEE dinner. The fancy restaurant we were planning on going to was closed, so we ended up going around the corner to another not-as-fancy-but-still-nice restaurant that served burgers and pizza. Tuesday finally rolled around, and it was time to say goodbye to each other and head out to our sites. A Paraguayan friend of mine who I had met over the weekend agreed to help a few of us reach the terminal (the Asunción bus-system is byzantine). I boarded the bus to Oviedo, along with another volunteer stationed close by, and off we went, newly minted PCV's racing towards our permanent sites.

Part III: Arrival in site

The bus arrived at the Terminal in Oviedo about three and a half hours later, without incident, and I got off. I had chosen to take ALL my possessions with me, instead of leaving some in long-term storage at the PC office, to be delivered to me in about a month. So now I found myself standing by the side of the highway with an enormous internal-frame pack, a smaller daypack, a bag of extra clothes and objects that wouldn't fit in either, my tereré equipment and my guitar. I knew which collectivo bus would take me to my site, but they are often crowded and I wasn't sure I would even be able to fit all my stuff through the door. I surreptitiously kept and eye on the 3 beige-clad police officers across the lot to my right, and contemplated my next move.

Luckily, just at that moment a taxi pulled up; he had likely been observing me, waiting to see if I was going to climb into another bus, walk, or sit down and wait for someone. None of these being the case, I waved him over and loaded my stuff into the trunk. The 14 km drive to my site cost me $10 – an exorbitant amount by Paraguayan standards – but I was happy to pay for the convenience.

My new host-mom and brother were waiting for me under a tree by the side of the road, drinking terere. They greeted me enthusiastically and tried to carry all of my possessions themselves. I bargained them into letting me carry the lighter backpack and my guitar, while my brother took the heavy pack and my host mom took the lighter bag and t-re equipment. We walked along a shady path of closed vegetation, which made the going cool and pleasant.

At the house I was greeted by my host father, an ancient man who resembles a gnarled old oak tree, but is still athletic enough to tend the fields and chase vagrant farm animals every day. My room was complete empty except for an old gas stove with no tank. I will have to hire a carpenter to make me a bed, a table and a few chairs. (Until then I'm using great-grandfather's old rickety bed, which he built himself in 1920. I think the mattress is original as well.) I got five old crates they had lying around, and made myself some shelves and a nightstand. I arranged my clothes and books, put my guitar in the corner, and relegated the non-functional stove to 'temporary-table' status. My room, if simple, is actually quite comfortable.

The family has been great so far. My host-parents are very kind and like to fret over me. Hopefully that wears off eventually (the fretting, not the kindness), but it's nice to feel cared for. Of the ten children, I have met four. Claudio is perhaps in his late 30's, has a wife and house in the next town, and works here on his father's farm. He gave me a tour of the farm, pointing out different crops, the pests that affect them, and elaborating on the injustices of the international agriculture trade. Roberto, who lives in the room across from mine, is in his late 20's and appears to be quite the lady's man. (He somehow talked me into letting him use my phone to make a booty call... right in front of me. Awkward.) But I've spent the most time so far with my 23-year-old host brother, Juan-Angél, with whom I share a birthday. This afternoon he showed me how to operate their antique washing machine, and I taught him how to make drinking glasses out of old beer/wine bottles. He also wants to help me with my Guaraní, for which I offered him guitar lessons.

The fourth son I met, the eldest, is still a bit of a mystery. I didn't catch his name and he was only here for a very short while. I guess I will find out soon enough though; it's not like I'm pressed for time!

Swear-in weekend was a blast, my room is comfortable and my first impressions with my family are positive. Now it's time to start working. But... what exactly do I DO?

Woah! He's still alive?

Okay, I know it's been a while since I've updated, but such is life. Anyway I have about 15 to write a quicky summary of the last few weeks.

I finally received my permanant site placement! For the next two years, I will be living in the compañía (tiny village) of Kaitá, about 20 minutes outside of the city of Coronel Oviedo, in the departamento (state) of Caaguazú. This department is located smack in the middle of Paraguay's eastern half, around 3 hours from Asunción, and right on Ruta 2/7, which connects Asunción with Paraguay's second biggest city, the infamous Ciudad del Este. So even though my site is campo campo, it's well-connected to several large urban centers.

I have approximately 7,442 ideas for possible projects to do in the school and in the community, so going back to training for the remaining few weeks is tough. But I'll just suck it up and stick with it, because there may be times in the future when I will miss it... maybe.

Today is COS (Close of Service) for G-24. I have a few friends in that training group, so it was sad to see them go so soon. In the out-bound Volunteers I saw a mix of excitement to be home, disbelief that they were leaving, and a kind of hesitant nostalgia to leave. Yesterday I also met a former Volunteer from many years ago who had come back to visit, and she was having a great time! Like three PC generations terere-ing around the same disintegrating table.

My training group, G-32, will be swearing in as full Peace Corps Volunteers one week from today. I will be in my site - confused, slightly lost, and rearing to go - by May 4th. It is an exciting, confusing, and hopeful time for all of us!

Almost halfway through training (Long overdue post!!)

It's saturday afternoon, it's raining and it's Paraguay. This can only mean one thing: that nothing at all is happening. I've already read my book, played my guitar, and watch the torrential rain turn the red dirt road in front of my house into a muddy red river. I'll take full advantage of this rare moment of quiet to let you, my few, know what I've been doing for the last month. (Sorry for the lateness of this post, I know that it's way overdue!)

I am not yet a Peace Corps Volunteer (hereafter PCV). I am a Peace Corps Trainee (hereafter PCT). The training process is mostly likely the most intense period of the entire 27 month experience. These 11 weeks are packed with back-to-back classes, activities, workshops, field trips and projects, every day. Let's start at the beginning.

Our training actually takes place in two major locations: the CECP and the Centro'i.I've forgotten what CECP stands for... Centro something Cuerpo de Paz. The Peace Corps really love acronyms, but rarely bother explaining what they mean.

The CECP is the main training headquarters, located in the city of Guarambaré, about 2 hours outside of Asunción by bus. All 49 PCT's in the G-32 Training Group meet here once or twice a week for large group presentations about health, safety and what it means to be a PCV, as well as receiving a new vaccination or two every week and receiving our meager living allowance every other week.

I stated above that there are 49 of us in Training Group G-32. We are divided into four groups, training in 3 technical areas: Urban Youth Development (UYD), Early Elementary Education (EEE, my group), and Rural Health and Sanitation (RHS), which is split into two groups because of their numbers. Each group lives in a "satellite community" outside of Guarambaré. Each local community has a Centro'i (a "Guarañol" word meaning "little center") in which most of the day-to-day training takes place. My Centro'i is about a 10 or 15 minute walk from my front door down a winding red dirt road, pictured below.


Each day is divided into two sections: We have Language training each morning from 7:45-11:30 am, Monday through Saturday. We all go home to our host families for a hearty Paraguayan lunch, the most important meal of the day. We return to the Centro'i at 1 pm for Technical training, which usually lasts until around 5 pm.

Besides our normal Language and Technical training, and visits to the CECP, we have a variety of other ongoing projects. As an Education trainee, I work in one of the 3 local elementary schools, doing talks and workshops using activities and didactic materials to promote participatory learning in the classroom. On weekends I have a "Club de Lectura" for local kids to come learn the joys of reading.

Two weeks ago I went to stay with a current PCV about 4 hours northwest of here in the Department (state) of San Pedro. Since it was a weekend, and Monday was a holiday (Día de los Héroes), I only got to actually visit his school for a few rushed hours on Tuesday morning before hopping on the bus back home. It was really interesting, though, to see how Volunteers actually live, and to hear their stories and opinions about living and working in Paraguayan communities and schools. It is much more relaxed than training, which is a relief, though certainly not without its own challenges.

This past Thursday we invited all the elementary school teachers in our village to come participate in a workshop, in which we made all kinds of learning materials that the schools lacked. It took all day, but in the end we had made enough sets of Alphabet-tablets, Numeral-tablets, and 100's charts for all the local classrooms! (Examples below.) Now our project for the rest of training is making sure teachers use them, or even know how. All that work was really only about 10% of the job. The workshops will begin next week.

Besides my host family and the other PCT's, I have made three new friends. :)

My PC experience so far has been crazy, exhausting, busy, chaotic and challenging, but I have loved (almost) every moment of it us far, and I think I am adjusting well to the way things work here. I even bought my own "termo." :) I miss you all!

Comming soon!

Hello to all of you wonderful people who actually read my blog! I don't get internet access very often, so I've been writing entries and backdating them on my laptop, with the intent of putting them on a flashdrive and uploading them (with pictures!) the next time I get the chance. I took the colectivo into Guarambaré today, but left the flash drive at home. I'm a genious.

Anyway, those entries should be coming soon, and you'll have quite a bit of interesting reading to do! :) Tranquilopa in Paraguay. Ciao!

3... 2... 1...

In two and a half hours I will board a bus that will take me away from East Lansing, bound for Detroit. Once there, I will get on an early-morning plane and arrive in Miami a little before 10 AM. I'll have the day to either bum around Miami, maybe hit the beach, or stay at my hotel and sleep. The two situations are equally likely. On Wednesday, after my "staging event," I will get on another plane, this one a red-eye flight, and fly to Asunción, connecting in São Paulo. From there I'm not quite sure what will happen, but the idea is that I'll be in Guarambaré and meet my host family sometime on Thursday.

Holy s**t.

Ugh!

Okay: my luggage officially sucks. It's not necessarily the weight, though it is quite heavy, it's the awkwardness. I've got that big backpack that I carry on my back, but then carrying that little backpack over one arm is way more difficult than I expected. My shoulder just isn't big enough for both straps, and because of the slippery nylon material, the little backpack keeps slipping off and I have to catch it in the crook of my elbow, until I put down my guitar case to free up my hands so I can readjust it. This makes the going very slow and tedious. I'm going to have to find a new strategy here. I guess if I carried the little backpack on my chest it could work. I'd look quite bizarre, but it's better than struggling to carry everything.

I was awoken this morning by a hyperactive chihuahua trying to lick my eye. After that wonderful welcome to the new day, I spent the late morning and early afternoon here at Espresso Royal, my East Lansing home-base. Four hours of studying Guaraní verbs later, I'm thinking I should move somewhere else. But every time I pack up to leave, someone I know comes in and sits down. It's like I'm being passed from person to person. I guess that's how you really know you're a regular.

backdated post: wrote it on the bus

Tuesday, Jan 26, 2010

12:33 am

I learned a scientific fact today. As it turns out, the interior dimensions of a backpack are inversely proportional to its desired volume. In layman's terms, this means that the more stuff you need to pack, the smaller the luggage seems. For such a large (and somehow very heavy) backpack, I am taking surprisingly little with me. (Okay now that I'm actually making a list, it seems like a lot more. But it made a seemingly very tiny pile on my bed.) My mother was trying hopelessly to give me "just one more" sweater/pair of jeans/shirt/pillow/cookbook/basically anything else that was within her line of vision. NOTHING else will fit in this bag. After all that, my pack contains:

1 sleeping bag + liner

1 pocket knife

1 multi-tool

4 books/notebooks

1 set of colored pencils

1 toiletries bag (toothbrushes/paste, deodorant, floss, etc)

1 solar charger + rechargeable batteries

1 DVD (I'll give you one guess, see below*)

5 t-shirts (well, six counting the one I'm wearing)

2 button up shirts

2 sweaters

3 pairs of pants (counting those I'm wearing)

3 pairs of shoes (my normal pair plus sandals and running shoes)

2 long underwear (pants/shirt)

4 pairs of warm wool socks

10 pairs of cotton socks (hey, they wear out quickly, and were in a pack.)

5 pairs of undies (boxers or briefs? I'll leave you in suspense!)

That's about it. This is what I'm taking with me. It's both scary and refreshing to carry all your possessions with you. True, I look a bit ungainly carrying a big backpack with a sleeping bag strapped to the top, a smaller backpack covered in flag-patches, and balancing it all with a bulky black guitar case... but knowing that I can carry everything I effectively own on my back makes me feel like I could go anywhere, and do anything.

At this very moment, I am on a bus. I have been on the bus for about an hour... only 14 more to go. I'm really good at booking myself on these overnight bus trips. I said goodbye to my room. Goodbye to my cat. Goodbye to my mom, dad and brother. Goodbye to the U.P.

*Domi trivia question: If the Domster were to bring one and only one DVD with him to Paraguay, which DVD would it be?

A) Napoleon Dynamite

B) The Princess Bride

C) Borat

D) The Wonderful World of Antique Victorian Lampshades

The answer is, of course, B) The Princess Bride! Only my favorite movie ever of my whole life! I only met one other person who can out-quote me watching this movie. Sadly she mysteriously turned up missing. Just sayin'. If you answered A or C to the above question, it's best you never mention this to me. If you answered D... then you're dumb. (It is, however, a real movie. I found it in a drawer of old VHS tapes in my living room. I didn't watch it.)

23 more days!

The day-count is running down very quickly! I got a good, sturdy internal-frame backpack a few days ago. This morning I woke up and noticed that my flashlight had fallen off my windowsill and landed behind the nightstand. It was only the position I was lying in that allowed me to see it at all. I didn't want to forget it in the inevitable last-minute rush, so I stuck it in one of the side pockets of my new backpack. Standing there, it suddenly occurred to me that forgetting my pocket knife would be inconvenient, so I went to get it, and stuck that in a pocket too. Just for good measure I tossed in my pocket first-aid book... and it didn't end. I packed my sleeping bag and liner, and started collecting a few articles of clothing before I stopped and shook myself: I still DO have another week and a half before I even set out.

Before flying out of the country, I've got a few stops to make. In a week and a half I'll bus it down to Chicago to visit my uncle and a few friends before hopping on the train to East Lansing. I have family and about a million friends in EL that I want to see before I go, so it will be a very busy week and a half. I will get to see my old a cappella group, Capital Green, host and subsequently dominate the annual ICCA competition. (That's the International Championship of Collegiate A cappella for those of you not cool enough to know that.) I can say farewell to MSU, the Peanut Barrel, Sindhu's Indian restaurant and the Lansing Refugee Development Center.

From East Lansing I will take the bus to Detroit to catch my flight on Feb. 8th. It is a very early flight, so I may actually have to take the bus there the night before and just spend the night in the terminal. (It's not as bad as it sounds, except for once in Santo Domingo when I had 2 Dominican guys trying very hard to get me to go party with them and their "sister". This supposedly gorgeous sister was not present, and I have a nagging suspicion that I would have ended up with a lump on my head and no luggage had I went to the "bar" with them.) From D-town I'll fly to Miami, arriving in the early afternoon. Since my staging event isn't until later in the evening, I think I may try to hit up South Beach for the afternoon. This will be the last beach I see for a while, so hopefully the weather will be nice enough for me to soak up some rays and splash around a bit before it's landlocking time. I'll pack my swim trunks near the top of my luggage. :)

35 days to go!

I just booked my flight to my staging event in Miami. In various emails and letters the exact date of this event has changed no less than three times. But now it is American Airlines official: February 8th. That leaves me thirty-five days, in fact, instead of 38, not counting today. It's an earlyass flight but that will leave me some time in the afternoon after I check in to my hotel to bum around Miami for a while. Maybe I can even make it to the beach! It's a straight shot down the highway from my hotel to South Beach, maybe I can catch a bus or something. I'll have about 8 hours of free time. Things are starting to happen, and it's exciting!

39 days to go!

I've started making mental packing lists. I am allowed 2 bags, and a carry-on I assume, equalling no more than 100 lbs. This sounds like a lot, but it adds up quickly. I'm not too worried about clothes. I'll bring 3 or 4 pairs of jeans, 5 plain t-shirts, a few undershirts, socks, underwear, etc. I do need to pick up a few new collared button-up shirts for more formal occasions. I can get any other clothes I need when I get there. I'm excited to buy my first ao'poi shirt!

I am trying to resist the urge to bring my books. They're too heavy, and I doubt I will really need them. I'll bring a few essentials, like my trusty old Spanish dictionary, Cien Años de Soledad, maybe Walden, a few others if I can fit them. Oh, definitely taking Vagabonding and Marco Polo Didn't Go There, by Rolf Potts. Fantastic for travelers.

I'll also bring notebooks, colored pencils, and a small sewing kit. Plastic bags, a flashlight and a good knife. Unfortunately I think my guitar will have to stay at home. I don't have a hard case to carry it in. Maybe I can find an inexpensive guitar there in Paraguay, though I may have to forgo a few meals to afford it.

I only have 39 more days until I'm in Miami for the staging event. That seems like WAY too many! I'm using most of my time to study Guaraní. It's really interesting, but very challenging. There's not much I can say yet, besides a few greetings and the numbers 1-10. My first sentence that I constructed all myself: Che aháta Paraguaype. "I'm going to Paraguay." Correct or no, it's my first baby step. I can also greet a friend: Mba'e tekóiko chera'a!, or greet someone new for the first time: Mba'éichapa.

One last important one: Taiporâ ndéve ko ary pyahu! Happy New Year! :)