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!
Monday, July 26, 2010
Monday, July 12, 2010
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!
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!
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
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.
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.
Thursday, May 13, 2010
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!
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!
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
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?
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?
Friday, April 23, 2010
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!
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!
Saturday, March 13, 2010
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.
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!
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