An excerpt from my journal this morning:
12/23/10
Wow I'm blown away when I write that date. I can't believe it's almost Christmas and I'm ... here. This is just such a weird decision I made to stay here. It's so unlike me. I love holidays; I love Christmas, buying presents, being with my family and friends. And it's not like I couldn't have gone home. It would have made perfect sense to go. Good timing, an opportunity to see everyone, a special time of the year. 2 weeks ago I woke up looking at plane tickets, my heart set on a last-minute trip.
But I just... didn't. For the past year, I was debating whether or not I would go for Christmas, and I think part of me wanted to just put it off to the point where I end up not making a decision and am forced to break the mold, forced to take a risk and make a decision I probably would never actively make. To stay. Here.
But now I am going to get to experience Christmas in a different culture with different people. I'll get to share my traditions. I already bought presents for my family and friends here and I wasn't even stingy because I wanted to share with them to the extent that I would share with my people at home. Now I'm reading this thinking - so what you get to spend Christmas in another culture. You already know what they do, how they celebrate it because everyone has already told you. (It sounds like it's not thaaat different from any other day. To be honest, it sounds like it sucks.) Plus you already spend everyday in another culture so can the cultural hoop-la.
So what is it really? And now I just realized... I want to share Christmas in this country with these people to prove to them and to myself that I love them just as much as my own people. To show that this love affair I have with Paraguay is real. To show that they ARE members of my ring of family and friends. I already know I'm going to be sad the next couple of days. I'm going to cry and miss my family and feel homesick. But those feelings of sadness don't replace the joy I feel for being here; they just live beside it. They reside together as I celebrate my beautiful, tragic, bittersweet, memorable Paraguayan Christmas. Feliz Navidad.
Thursday, December 23, 2010
Thursday, December 2, 2010
the many faces of time.
10 months have passed since I arrived in Paraguay. A lot can be done in 10 months. You can have a baby, finish a school year, some people sign a 10-month lease. 10 months is a sufficient amount of time to spend in something, somewhere, with someone, enough to be able to say one is accomplishing a lot with that something, familiar with that somewhere, involved with that someone.
When you're counting 27 on your fingers and toes and limbs and teeth, each month is a milestone and inevitably brings about a bit of reflection. Am I accomplishing anything? Do I feel like I know my community? Can I name people with whom I can say I have true, genuine relationships? Here at my 10 month checkpoint, I feel I am swinging on a pendulum between the extremes. One day, everything is a hopeless disaster; the next, I couldn't feel more happy and fulfilled in my life. There is never one factor that consistently makes or breaks my day; it is usually just a big dust cloud of ins and outs and ups and downs, eventually ending in a steady tone for everything I do in that day. I lay down at night feeling exhausted either because I poured my entire self into Paraguay or because Paraguay sucked me dry that day. Just as temperamental as my attitude is, so is my relationship with time. Some days feel like an eternity, and my thoughts flutter between memories from the past, comforts from home, and daydreams of the "picture-perfect, care-free" life that awaits me in the United States once my time here is finished. As always, we never remember pain; everything I remember and everything I imagine at home is clear, clean, easy.
Then there are days where I wake up and feel like time is flying by me, like the train is running and I'm trying to jump on. I realize how quickly my 2 years here is passing, and I feel short of breath thinking that I won't have enough time to complete my work or share my ideas or appreciate everything about this experience. That there's not enough time to show my profound love for this country, this culture, these people. I find myself in a twilight zone; I see myself in the future missing this time in my life, and I feel a nostalgia for the present moment. The phases of time are intertwined.
Which is funny considering that I'm living in a culture that overwhelmingly lives in the present. Can you tell who's the American here? Paraguayans function on a timeline of a few days no mas. For my presentation ceremony at the school, we planned everything and invited people only two days before. I cross paths with someone I haven't seen for a couple days, and they emotionally hug my neck, calling out, "Tanto tiempo! Long time, no see!" I run into a woman from my exercise group on Thursday who hasn't come since Monday, and she says to me, "No me voy mas... I don't go anymore." In Guarani, they hardly use anything but the present tense. Rarely do conversations turn to analysis of the past or worry of the future but consist in the small cycle of Now. Ahora. Koaga. Everything is reduced to short, simple.
As a development worker, I sometimes hate this concept. It's not conducive to improvement or sustainability. There is no looking back to recognize factors and cause and effect; no analysis, discussion, change. There is no preparation for the future, sometimes not even a regard, a concern for it. When the whole country is sitting in the shade with a cool breeze, drinking terere, chatting with friends, I can look through my Westerner's lens and pinpoint why this country is stricken with sickness and poverty, living left behind.
But at the same time, as a person, I appreciate, I envy, the ability to enjoy with every ounce of themselves that terere, that while they spent under a tree in their backyard. We talk about the blur of the moment, but for them the past and the future is a blur. This moment is clear and is the only thing they have, the only thing they are guaranteed in this unjust, complicated, difficult world. So why not make the most of it?
My 10 months here have been a mixture of contradicting time, emotions, and thoughts. I doubt I will ever come to a point where I see or feel just one thing, but I think that's what happens when we truly begin to live. Begin to explore. We open ourselves and fill up with a hundred different ideas from a million different angles leaving us confused and tired. But in these weak and hard times, we grow and change. I know I am a different person now than I was 10 months ago and than I will be 17 months from now. The only thing I can hope for in all of this, is that when I do leave in that distant/near date, that I take a bit of Paraguay with me and leave a bit of myself behind.
Whatever that means...
When you're counting 27 on your fingers and toes and limbs and teeth, each month is a milestone and inevitably brings about a bit of reflection. Am I accomplishing anything? Do I feel like I know my community? Can I name people with whom I can say I have true, genuine relationships? Here at my 10 month checkpoint, I feel I am swinging on a pendulum between the extremes. One day, everything is a hopeless disaster; the next, I couldn't feel more happy and fulfilled in my life. There is never one factor that consistently makes or breaks my day; it is usually just a big dust cloud of ins and outs and ups and downs, eventually ending in a steady tone for everything I do in that day. I lay down at night feeling exhausted either because I poured my entire self into Paraguay or because Paraguay sucked me dry that day. Just as temperamental as my attitude is, so is my relationship with time. Some days feel like an eternity, and my thoughts flutter between memories from the past, comforts from home, and daydreams of the "picture-perfect, care-free" life that awaits me in the United States once my time here is finished. As always, we never remember pain; everything I remember and everything I imagine at home is clear, clean, easy.
Then there are days where I wake up and feel like time is flying by me, like the train is running and I'm trying to jump on. I realize how quickly my 2 years here is passing, and I feel short of breath thinking that I won't have enough time to complete my work or share my ideas or appreciate everything about this experience. That there's not enough time to show my profound love for this country, this culture, these people. I find myself in a twilight zone; I see myself in the future missing this time in my life, and I feel a nostalgia for the present moment. The phases of time are intertwined.
Which is funny considering that I'm living in a culture that overwhelmingly lives in the present. Can you tell who's the American here? Paraguayans function on a timeline of a few days no mas. For my presentation ceremony at the school, we planned everything and invited people only two days before. I cross paths with someone I haven't seen for a couple days, and they emotionally hug my neck, calling out, "Tanto tiempo! Long time, no see!" I run into a woman from my exercise group on Thursday who hasn't come since Monday, and she says to me, "No me voy mas... I don't go anymore." In Guarani, they hardly use anything but the present tense. Rarely do conversations turn to analysis of the past or worry of the future but consist in the small cycle of Now. Ahora. Koaga. Everything is reduced to short, simple.
As a development worker, I sometimes hate this concept. It's not conducive to improvement or sustainability. There is no looking back to recognize factors and cause and effect; no analysis, discussion, change. There is no preparation for the future, sometimes not even a regard, a concern for it. When the whole country is sitting in the shade with a cool breeze, drinking terere, chatting with friends, I can look through my Westerner's lens and pinpoint why this country is stricken with sickness and poverty, living left behind.
But at the same time, as a person, I appreciate, I envy, the ability to enjoy with every ounce of themselves that terere, that while they spent under a tree in their backyard. We talk about the blur of the moment, but for them the past and the future is a blur. This moment is clear and is the only thing they have, the only thing they are guaranteed in this unjust, complicated, difficult world. So why not make the most of it?
My 10 months here have been a mixture of contradicting time, emotions, and thoughts. I doubt I will ever come to a point where I see or feel just one thing, but I think that's what happens when we truly begin to live. Begin to explore. We open ourselves and fill up with a hundred different ideas from a million different angles leaving us confused and tired. But in these weak and hard times, we grow and change. I know I am a different person now than I was 10 months ago and than I will be 17 months from now. The only thing I can hope for in all of this, is that when I do leave in that distant/near date, that I take a bit of Paraguay with me and leave a bit of myself behind.
Whatever that means...
Thursday, November 18, 2010
books books books!!!
You can lead a horse to water, but you can't make it drink. But what if you teach the horse to drink but there is no water??
Since August, I have been giving weekly workshops with the elementary teachers at my school. Every Friday afternoon, the children go outside to play, and we meet for an hour and a half. In these meetings, I share different techniques and materials with them, and then their job is to implement the new methodology in their classrooms. So far I have been focusing on literacy and attempting to convince the teachers that my pedagogy works. I always like to give as a motivation to my teachers the example that to pass Kindergarten in the United States, you must be able to read and write. I then proceed to say that I refuse to believe that American children are naturally smarter than Paraguayans, so what is missing? The answer? Good teaching, commitment to education, and high standards.
The traditional way of teaching reading is by using syllables. A consonant is tacked on to each vowel and the children are supposed to memorize the 5 syllables. For example, ma-me-mi-mo-mu. As students go along reading, they say the names of the letters and then their syllable. For example, for the word "mamá" m-a-ma. m-a-ma. mamá. This technique is painfully terrible. It is not practical, efficient nor effective. A hilarious example of flaws in the Paraguayan school system was in a joke I found in a newspaper using the words for grapefruit; in Spanish, "pomelo" and in Guarani, "grei fu." It showed a picture of a grapefruit and a child reading the word "p-o-po. m-e-me. l-o-lo." The teacher then asks the child what is the word and the child says "grei fu." Thankfully I am leading my teachers away from the syllabic method. We have now put abecedarios (alphabets) in each classroom, and the teachers are now teaching literacy by individual letters and their sounds.
Although this is a mammoth step for the education of Paraguayan children, it is only one small part of teaching literacy. Knowing letter sounds helps for decoding words, but ensuring that children actually understand what they are reading and even more, thinking critically about the material they digest is an entire different process. I feel that I have arrived at the point with my teachers and with the students at my school where they are ready to move to this next step. They are anxious for more stimulating ideas, and it is plain to see that the children are in need of more support to continue advancing. The next step in my plan is to start a comprehension initiative and show teachers the importance of using all different kinds of reading and writing in the classroom. But every time I sit down to start planning my workshops, I am faced with the same problem: there are no books. How are we supposed to teach reading if there are no books that we can use?
Back in July, along with the women I work with in the Supervision office, various members of the community, and the future mayor (she just won this past Sunday!!), we formed a Pro-Library Commission to build a public library in Natalio. Plans are in the works; we already have the plot of land and are discussing with the architect. We are currently planning our first fundraiser - the Miss Natalio Beauty Pageant, which will be held on November 27th and is usually extremely successful. (And should be hilarious.)
As a Peace Corps Volunteer, one part of my job is to connect people with resources. Seeing as there are lots of organizations and embassies that have large quantities of books just begging to be donated, my job in our Commission is to contact these agencies to begin requesting books. While the most important component of my projects is sustainability, teaching people how to self-motivate and encouraging resources and development to come from within the community, at the same time, I know I have lots of dear family and friends back in the States wondering how they could possibly support me and my community. As I have been highly impressed by the participation and motivation from my community, I think it would be only appropriate to make this library project a collaborative effort between my Paraguayan network and my network in the States.
So, en este momento, I would like to invite you all to be a part of my library project by donating books.
Logistics:
- books should be IN SPANISH
- for any level
- books should be mailed in a package to me, as a gift to me, and then I in turn will donate "my" books to the library (My address is to the right.)
- I will continue to accept book donations until the end of my service in April 2012.
- For large-scale book or monetary donations, please email me at lizzie.greer@gmail.com so I can consult Peace Corps regulations and can work out a way to receive your donation.
With the support and dedication from the community along with your help, I believe that this project can and will be made a reality. It is my goal, my dream, to see classrooms where instead of copying off the board, students are reading, writing, learning, laughing, living. I want to close with a quote from a poster that is in my office at the Supervision.
Con ilusión empecé
Con esperanza seguí
y con esfuerzo llegué
a la meta que soñé.
With illusion I began
with hope I continued
and with strength I arrived
at the goal that I dreamed.
Since August, I have been giving weekly workshops with the elementary teachers at my school. Every Friday afternoon, the children go outside to play, and we meet for an hour and a half. In these meetings, I share different techniques and materials with them, and then their job is to implement the new methodology in their classrooms. So far I have been focusing on literacy and attempting to convince the teachers that my pedagogy works. I always like to give as a motivation to my teachers the example that to pass Kindergarten in the United States, you must be able to read and write. I then proceed to say that I refuse to believe that American children are naturally smarter than Paraguayans, so what is missing? The answer? Good teaching, commitment to education, and high standards.
The traditional way of teaching reading is by using syllables. A consonant is tacked on to each vowel and the children are supposed to memorize the 5 syllables. For example, ma-me-mi-mo-mu. As students go along reading, they say the names of the letters and then their syllable. For example, for the word "mamá" m-a-ma. m-a-ma. mamá. This technique is painfully terrible. It is not practical, efficient nor effective. A hilarious example of flaws in the Paraguayan school system was in a joke I found in a newspaper using the words for grapefruit; in Spanish, "pomelo" and in Guarani, "grei fu." It showed a picture of a grapefruit and a child reading the word "p-o-po. m-e-me. l-o-lo." The teacher then asks the child what is the word and the child says "grei fu." Thankfully I am leading my teachers away from the syllabic method. We have now put abecedarios (alphabets) in each classroom, and the teachers are now teaching literacy by individual letters and their sounds.
Although this is a mammoth step for the education of Paraguayan children, it is only one small part of teaching literacy. Knowing letter sounds helps for decoding words, but ensuring that children actually understand what they are reading and even more, thinking critically about the material they digest is an entire different process. I feel that I have arrived at the point with my teachers and with the students at my school where they are ready to move to this next step. They are anxious for more stimulating ideas, and it is plain to see that the children are in need of more support to continue advancing. The next step in my plan is to start a comprehension initiative and show teachers the importance of using all different kinds of reading and writing in the classroom. But every time I sit down to start planning my workshops, I am faced with the same problem: there are no books. How are we supposed to teach reading if there are no books that we can use?
Back in July, along with the women I work with in the Supervision office, various members of the community, and the future mayor (she just won this past Sunday!!), we formed a Pro-Library Commission to build a public library in Natalio. Plans are in the works; we already have the plot of land and are discussing with the architect. We are currently planning our first fundraiser - the Miss Natalio Beauty Pageant, which will be held on November 27th and is usually extremely successful. (And should be hilarious.)
As a Peace Corps Volunteer, one part of my job is to connect people with resources. Seeing as there are lots of organizations and embassies that have large quantities of books just begging to be donated, my job in our Commission is to contact these agencies to begin requesting books. While the most important component of my projects is sustainability, teaching people how to self-motivate and encouraging resources and development to come from within the community, at the same time, I know I have lots of dear family and friends back in the States wondering how they could possibly support me and my community. As I have been highly impressed by the participation and motivation from my community, I think it would be only appropriate to make this library project a collaborative effort between my Paraguayan network and my network in the States.
So, en este momento, I would like to invite you all to be a part of my library project by donating books.
Logistics:
- books should be IN SPANISH
- for any level
- books should be mailed in a package to me, as a gift to me, and then I in turn will donate "my" books to the library (My address is to the right.)
- I will continue to accept book donations until the end of my service in April 2012.
- For large-scale book or monetary donations, please email me at lizzie.greer@gmail.com so I can consult Peace Corps regulations and can work out a way to receive your donation.
With the support and dedication from the community along with your help, I believe that this project can and will be made a reality. It is my goal, my dream, to see classrooms where instead of copying off the board, students are reading, writing, learning, laughing, living. I want to close with a quote from a poster that is in my office at the Supervision.
Con ilusión empecé
Con esperanza seguí
y con esfuerzo llegué
a la meta que soñé.
With illusion I began
with hope I continued
and with strength I arrived
at the goal that I dreamed.
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
Saturday, October 23, 2010
Familia.
Peace Corps Paraguay has the rule that when Volunteers first arrive in site, they must live with a family for the first 3 months. When I first came to my site in May, I lived with a profesora named Celmira, her husband Rolando, and her two sons, Fabian (10) and Adrian (11). I had a great experience living with them; they were kind but not forceful, included me in their family but also gave me the independence and freedom I needed to get to know my new community. I have no complaints about my time living with them, but I still felt anxious for August when I would be able to live on my own.
At the beginning of July, as I was preparing to rent a house in the middle of town, I was invited by a woman named Ceferina to come live in her house for 2 weeks. Seeing as I still lacked a few weeks until I was officially allowed to move to my house, I accepted, and one Saturday morning I took my clothes and my bolsa de dormir (sleeping bag) and moved to Ceferina's house.
Ceferina, or Tepeli, as the barrio children call her, has a house on arguably the most peaceful, beautiful piece of land in our district. It is located a little ways out of town and its back view looks out towards Argentina over fields of mandioca and yerba. In her barn, she has chickens, roosters, pigs, and cows, and her daily tasks consist of feeding and taking care of these animals, along with cleaning her house, cooking 3 meals a day, washing all of her family's clothes by hand, taking care of her nephew, and the hardest job of all: being my Paraguayan mama. And if she is my mom, then her 4 sons are my hermanitos, my little brothers: Dani (21), Enrique (20), Fredy (17), and Marcos (13). Sharing laughs, clothes, fights, beds, decisions, and most importantly, love, I can call these people my family in the purest sense of the word.
In what started as 2 weeks and grew into 3 months, I had a range of experiences living with the Zelayas. This is a collection of my stories.
The day that I moved to Ceferina's was the first day of the 2 week winter vacation. Dani and Enrique were home from seminary, and although we had already talked on the phone, the day I arrived was the first time we met in person. Also visiting from Buenos Aires was Ceferina's brother, Ito. So many visitors, new and old, called for a celebration - we were going to kill a pig. Kindly enough, the family decided to wait until I arrived to begin the process, and once we began, we didn't stop working (and eating) until 9:00 that night.
Most people know that pigs are my favorite animals, and my brothers could hardly contain their excitement to force me to watch as they slaughtered the kure (pig in Guarani). First they began with the little guys. Completely unphased by the heart-wrenching squealing as they drug the baby pigs out of their pens, they then sliced them open from behind and popped out each of their testicles. The little babies then walked around uncomfortably as blood dripped onto the ground. And I thought that that was bad...
Then came the time for the real show. As if preparing for a soccer game, each person took their position around and in the pig pen. Animal instinct at its finest, the pig sensed what was about to happen and began to squeal very nervously. As Marcos straddled it and Ceferina and my host dad, Francisco, held the pig still from outside the pen, Enrique squatted down and grabbed onto the pig's neck. He told me to come closer and get my camera ready. I squatted down beside him and prepared. Mentally. He then shoved the knife into the pig's neck, and everyone else had to take hold to secure the pig as it scrambled. Enrique pulled out the knife, and my aunt hurried in with a bowl to catch the blood as it dripped out of the pig's neck. Although I had my ears covered, the squeals were intensely loud, and I remember at one point, turning my head and screaming while still snapping pictures with my other hand. After what felt like an eternity, the squeals subsided; the pig breathed its last breath, and everyone relaxed.
They then pulled the pig out of its pen and began to clean it while shaving off its hair with knives and spoons. When it was bare, white, and cold, they skinned it and cut off its head. A pleasant sight to see a pig head hanging alongside its bloody body. I learned a lot that day about how Paraguayans use pigs, and most importantly, I learned that NOTHING goes to waste. Of course, the pig meat is thrown on the "grill" and eaten as asado, a word for the typical cookout, and we ate that for lunch. We also pulled out a string of raw meat to leave to dry and make pork jerky. The rest of the afternoon we spent preparing the rest of the pig. A majority of the time, I sat with Tepeli and cut the pig fat off of the skin in little cubes. We fried this in a pot over the fire and made chicharron, a kind of pork rinds. The rest of the pig fat we melted down for her to save and use in her everyday cooking. Using the blood that my aunt caught and the intestines that we had pulled out, we made morcilla, blood sausage. We also cut up the heart, liver, and other insides, mixed it with garlic and onions then spread it across the pig skin. You then roll it up like a cinnamon bun and cook it over the fire to make enrollado. We then took down the head. After cutting and prying the jaw open, we boiled the pig head to be eaten. They also use the head meat to make a lunchmeat of sorts called queso de chancho, pig cheese. As I said, nothing goes to waste. The prime example being when I looked over to the fire and saw my aunt clipping off the hoofs of the leg and then later cutting up and eating the tail.
Had we not been drinking wine all day or had I not been desensitized to the shock factor in Paraguay, maybe this all would have been a bit more traumatizing for me. But at the end of the day, I only remember us sitting in the dark around the fire, exhausted, sweaty, full.
Unfortunately my camera with the pig-killing pictures was stolen, but this is a picture of a mama pig and her piglets, whom I witnessed be born.
When I first met my new host brother Dani, he had just gotten back from the hospital. He was sitting at the kitchen table with his head in his hands. He looked exhausted, desperate. He was sweating and had no color in his face. He had plastic wrapped around his head, and his hair was wet. He stood up and kissed me and apologized for having no energy.
I remembered that 2 weeks before when Ceferina was visiting Dani and Enrique in Villarrica, Dani was in the hospital. He was there all weekend. He was very sick; he had some kind of problem with his stomach.
Saturday night we ate dinner just me and Dani. We ate vegetable soup with egg. It was really good, light but filling. He told me that's the kind of food he has to eat; he has to be careful because some foods make him sick. I asked him what was wrong with him. He told me the doctor says he has a virus in his head that is entering his blood, traveling to his heart and his stomach, making him sick.
Sunday morning I ate breakfast with the 4 boys. We drank coffee with milk and ate coquitos. At 8, Marcos, Fredy, and Enrique went to church. Dani stayed; he said he wasn't feeling well.
We sat at the kitchen table talking again, just the 2 of us. He told me that the coffee had made him sick. I asked him again about what was wrong with him. He told me again about the "virus in his head" and then said that the doctor in Villarrica said he had a digestive problem. He then told me he has kidney stones, which is a sickness apart from his stomach problems. Then he told me about how he also has a problem with the bones in his back and it sometimes hurts in his lungs and in his back.
A little bit later, I was about to walk out the door to go to Celmira's house; we were going to Rolando's grandma's birthday party. Dani asked me to accompany him somewhere. We started walking down the path alongside the mandioca fields. We started talking again. He told me he got sick 7 years ago. The symptoms come and go, but there is a constant ache, something not quite right.
We arrived at the wooden shacks not far from Ceferina's house. The senora invited us in and Dani gave her the milk and food Ceferina had sent. We then said hello to the senor and sat in chairs alongside his bed.
He looked about 30 years old. His head was on a pillow; he was covered with a blanket. He kept bending and then straightening his legs. He kept rubbing his fingers together. His hands were shaking. He never stayed still. His face was pale and glistening. His eyes were filled with confusion and fear, and when he talked, his voice was high-pitched. At one point, he pulled himself on his side.
I was fighting back tears the whole time.
We said goodbye and left the house. I saw one of my students, one of the middle school girls. She rushed up and hugged me. She said Esperame wait a second and ran off. She came back with 3 mandarinas and threw her arms around my neck. She kissed my shoulder and then kissed my cheek.
We started walking home. Dani started talking about how the man had had a moto accident about a month ago. He went on to talk about how asi es la vida, that's how life is and started to talk about God and Jesus and how through the Espiritu Santo we can feel things.
I left and went to the birthday party in Yatytay. After we got back, I was walking in the dark, in the rain back to Ceferina's house. I was overwhelmed with the thought; I almost doubled over crying; I felt sick to my stomach. How... How is it that I was born in the richest, most powerful country in the world? With access to everything I need? Born to a smart, successful, loving family?
HOW?
The 2 weeks of winter break ended up being the coldest days that I've experienced here. It rained everyday, and it was intensely cold. A couple of mornings, there was even frost. Although we didn't have heat, I still found our house to be much warmer than outside, and I pretty much fell off the face of the planet to the rest of my town because I hardly left the comfort of my sleeping bag. The only time I left my house was to go for a run in the afternoon. And the only reason I went for a run was to warm up my body so that the cold water of the shower wouldn't feel so frigid. The water was soo cold!! After about 3 weeks of living with the Zelayas and taking cold showers, Fredy showed me how to work the hot water. I had been embarrassed to say anything thinking that they didn't have hot water when really in the end, I was just embarrassed by my ignorance. They still love to laugh at the fact that I was taking freezing showers for 3 weeks.
August 16th, el Dia del Nino, is the Day of the Child. This day is a longstanding tradition because a long time ago when Paraguay was at war, there were no more men to fight so thousands and thousands of children went into the battlefields to fight for their country. For this reason, el 16 de agosto celebrates the children of Paraguay. In the school we had a big party; there was food, candy, cake, balloons... At the end of the day, the teachers got together for a game of volleyball, and they asked me to play. A little reluctant but unable to say no, I stepped in and started playing. As many of you know, I played volleyball all throughout high school, and it is definitely my favorite sport, but sadly Paraguayans put the game to shame. They play uglyyy volleyball without rules which means lots of cheating and lots of illegal hits. My team lost the first game, and I was annoyed. For the second game, I was determined to give a better show. A ball came flying deep and I set it into the air, but my momentum sent me flying backwards. To catch my fall, I put my hands down and CRACK! I jumped up and ran off towards the office. "Rompi mi brazo" I kept repeating. "I broke my arm." I looked down and saw the hump, my distorted bone. "I need someone to take me to the hospital in Hohenau," I announced calmly, Hohenau being a German town about an hour away. Then came the protests: "Why do you have to go all the way there?" "Why don't you go to the hospital here?" "I know this guy who could fix that for you." My thoughts: Have you seen how disgusting the hospital is here? And thanks but I don't want some toothless witch doctor rubbing herbs on my arm and massaging the bone back in place. I somehow survived the long and bumpy ride to Hohenau but eventually arrived to the Adventist Hospital, which turned out to be beautiful and well worth the trip. I ended up staying the night, and I often reminisce on that night of such peaceful sleep. I miss the luxury of a comfortable bed, heat, and an IV with "calmante" meds. I doubt many people would say they enjoyed their time in the hospital, but I would have gladly stayed longer.
The next day, in typical Paraguayan fashion, a procedure that was meant to start in the morning took place at 3 pm. I was put to sleep and woke up with my bone reset, a small pin in my wrist, and a huge plaster cast up above my elbow. I was to wear the cast for a month, and what a long month that was. I was lucky to have Ceferina, Fredy, and Marcos to take care of me; helping me put up my hair, get dressed, bathe. Uncomfortable, heavy, and limiting - that cast was my nemesis. At the same time though, it had some unseen benefits. One of the main goals of Peace Corps is sustainability, that is, teaching people to be proactive and self-sufficient. This is one of the challenges though, because a lot of our Paraguayan counterparts would rather be handed materials, resources, or ideas. During the time I had my cast, a lot of my projects in the schools were taking off. Since I was unable to use my arm, it removed me from being capable to do a lot of the things my teachers wanted me to do, therefore forcing them to do it.
During the month that I had my cast, I really came to appreciate having good health and good health care. I had a few really dark days during that time, where I felt sad, homesick, hopeless. It made me realize that those days, the days that I feel lazy, unmotivated, angry, or when my mind is somewhere else, are the days when I'm tired or sick. I learned that each day I have to prioritize making sure I am personally ok before I can commit the rest of my day to serving Paraguayans. It feels odd that the first step to being selfless involves being a bit selfish...
I couldn't have been happier to finally get my cast off. While it was not the first time that I had broken my arm (the 4th actually), it hopefully will be the last and definitely the most memorable.
Sometimes when reading memoirs or stories of people's travels, you read a conversation and think, "surely they didn't really say that.. Or at least, not in that way." Some conversations just seem disconnected or outlandish, and you feel like there's no way someone actually said that or had that train of thought. Well, I can now attest that sometimes those conversations are real. Word for word.
One evening, Ceferina and I were sitting at the kitchen table. She was in a particularly talkative mood so I stayed quiet and let her talk. Some prefacing important details are that 1) Paraguay has a problem with infidelity, 2) the culture in Paraguay is traditionally very machista, sexist, and 3) Ceferina has a 6th grade education and has never worked outside of her house. Our "conversation" went a bit like this:
Ceferina: I'm worried about Dani and Enrique studying to be priests. I don't know if they should do what people say or do what God says. They don't have any money, and they're not going to make any money. My sister says I should stop giving them money. How are they going to support themselves? And what are we going to do when my husband stops working? Who is going to support us? ... I would love to be able to work. I want to work in the church. I want to clean in the church. But my husband won't let me. He's too jealous. He says that I want to go work in the church so I can find another man. But I would never cheat on my husband because he told me if I did, he would kill me. Like he really would kill me... And I never text with anyone that lives around here. Because people here gossip. And if I was texting with someone, my husband would find out. So I text with men that live in Asuncion. I really love my boyfriend from when I was 13 years old. Sometimes I text with him... But I know my husband's been with other girls. When he's traveling. I won't tell you which one but before he tried to get with one of my sisters. I'm very jealous of her. You are the only woman in the world that I trust with my husband. I know you would never do anything... Really I would love to open a lavanderia (a place to wash clothes) from my house. People could bring their clothes here and pay me and I could wash and dry and iron them. Although I hate ironing... (she stops to think)
Me: What are you thinking about?
Ceferina: I'm just thinking about who I'm going to text with tonight...
The view from my window at Ceferina's house one foggy sunrise.
At the beginning of July, as I was preparing to rent a house in the middle of town, I was invited by a woman named Ceferina to come live in her house for 2 weeks. Seeing as I still lacked a few weeks until I was officially allowed to move to my house, I accepted, and one Saturday morning I took my clothes and my bolsa de dormir (sleeping bag) and moved to Ceferina's house.
Ceferina, or Tepeli, as the barrio children call her, has a house on arguably the most peaceful, beautiful piece of land in our district. It is located a little ways out of town and its back view looks out towards Argentina over fields of mandioca and yerba. In her barn, she has chickens, roosters, pigs, and cows, and her daily tasks consist of feeding and taking care of these animals, along with cleaning her house, cooking 3 meals a day, washing all of her family's clothes by hand, taking care of her nephew, and the hardest job of all: being my Paraguayan mama. And if she is my mom, then her 4 sons are my hermanitos, my little brothers: Dani (21), Enrique (20), Fredy (17), and Marcos (13). Sharing laughs, clothes, fights, beds, decisions, and most importantly, love, I can call these people my family in the purest sense of the word.
In what started as 2 weeks and grew into 3 months, I had a range of experiences living with the Zelayas. This is a collection of my stories.
The day that I moved to Ceferina's was the first day of the 2 week winter vacation. Dani and Enrique were home from seminary, and although we had already talked on the phone, the day I arrived was the first time we met in person. Also visiting from Buenos Aires was Ceferina's brother, Ito. So many visitors, new and old, called for a celebration - we were going to kill a pig. Kindly enough, the family decided to wait until I arrived to begin the process, and once we began, we didn't stop working (and eating) until 9:00 that night.
Most people know that pigs are my favorite animals, and my brothers could hardly contain their excitement to force me to watch as they slaughtered the kure (pig in Guarani). First they began with the little guys. Completely unphased by the heart-wrenching squealing as they drug the baby pigs out of their pens, they then sliced them open from behind and popped out each of their testicles. The little babies then walked around uncomfortably as blood dripped onto the ground. And I thought that that was bad...
Then came the time for the real show. As if preparing for a soccer game, each person took their position around and in the pig pen. Animal instinct at its finest, the pig sensed what was about to happen and began to squeal very nervously. As Marcos straddled it and Ceferina and my host dad, Francisco, held the pig still from outside the pen, Enrique squatted down and grabbed onto the pig's neck. He told me to come closer and get my camera ready. I squatted down beside him and prepared. Mentally. He then shoved the knife into the pig's neck, and everyone else had to take hold to secure the pig as it scrambled. Enrique pulled out the knife, and my aunt hurried in with a bowl to catch the blood as it dripped out of the pig's neck. Although I had my ears covered, the squeals were intensely loud, and I remember at one point, turning my head and screaming while still snapping pictures with my other hand. After what felt like an eternity, the squeals subsided; the pig breathed its last breath, and everyone relaxed.
They then pulled the pig out of its pen and began to clean it while shaving off its hair with knives and spoons. When it was bare, white, and cold, they skinned it and cut off its head. A pleasant sight to see a pig head hanging alongside its bloody body. I learned a lot that day about how Paraguayans use pigs, and most importantly, I learned that NOTHING goes to waste. Of course, the pig meat is thrown on the "grill" and eaten as asado, a word for the typical cookout, and we ate that for lunch. We also pulled out a string of raw meat to leave to dry and make pork jerky. The rest of the afternoon we spent preparing the rest of the pig. A majority of the time, I sat with Tepeli and cut the pig fat off of the skin in little cubes. We fried this in a pot over the fire and made chicharron, a kind of pork rinds. The rest of the pig fat we melted down for her to save and use in her everyday cooking. Using the blood that my aunt caught and the intestines that we had pulled out, we made morcilla, blood sausage. We also cut up the heart, liver, and other insides, mixed it with garlic and onions then spread it across the pig skin. You then roll it up like a cinnamon bun and cook it over the fire to make enrollado. We then took down the head. After cutting and prying the jaw open, we boiled the pig head to be eaten. They also use the head meat to make a lunchmeat of sorts called queso de chancho, pig cheese. As I said, nothing goes to waste. The prime example being when I looked over to the fire and saw my aunt clipping off the hoofs of the leg and then later cutting up and eating the tail.
Had we not been drinking wine all day or had I not been desensitized to the shock factor in Paraguay, maybe this all would have been a bit more traumatizing for me. But at the end of the day, I only remember us sitting in the dark around the fire, exhausted, sweaty, full.
Unfortunately my camera with the pig-killing pictures was stolen, but this is a picture of a mama pig and her piglets, whom I witnessed be born.
When I first met my new host brother Dani, he had just gotten back from the hospital. He was sitting at the kitchen table with his head in his hands. He looked exhausted, desperate. He was sweating and had no color in his face. He had plastic wrapped around his head, and his hair was wet. He stood up and kissed me and apologized for having no energy.
I remembered that 2 weeks before when Ceferina was visiting Dani and Enrique in Villarrica, Dani was in the hospital. He was there all weekend. He was very sick; he had some kind of problem with his stomach.
Saturday night we ate dinner just me and Dani. We ate vegetable soup with egg. It was really good, light but filling. He told me that's the kind of food he has to eat; he has to be careful because some foods make him sick. I asked him what was wrong with him. He told me the doctor says he has a virus in his head that is entering his blood, traveling to his heart and his stomach, making him sick.
Sunday morning I ate breakfast with the 4 boys. We drank coffee with milk and ate coquitos. At 8, Marcos, Fredy, and Enrique went to church. Dani stayed; he said he wasn't feeling well.
We sat at the kitchen table talking again, just the 2 of us. He told me that the coffee had made him sick. I asked him again about what was wrong with him. He told me again about the "virus in his head" and then said that the doctor in Villarrica said he had a digestive problem. He then told me he has kidney stones, which is a sickness apart from his stomach problems. Then he told me about how he also has a problem with the bones in his back and it sometimes hurts in his lungs and in his back.
A little bit later, I was about to walk out the door to go to Celmira's house; we were going to Rolando's grandma's birthday party. Dani asked me to accompany him somewhere. We started walking down the path alongside the mandioca fields. We started talking again. He told me he got sick 7 years ago. The symptoms come and go, but there is a constant ache, something not quite right.
We arrived at the wooden shacks not far from Ceferina's house. The senora invited us in and Dani gave her the milk and food Ceferina had sent. We then said hello to the senor and sat in chairs alongside his bed.
He looked about 30 years old. His head was on a pillow; he was covered with a blanket. He kept bending and then straightening his legs. He kept rubbing his fingers together. His hands were shaking. He never stayed still. His face was pale and glistening. His eyes were filled with confusion and fear, and when he talked, his voice was high-pitched. At one point, he pulled himself on his side.
I was fighting back tears the whole time.
We said goodbye and left the house. I saw one of my students, one of the middle school girls. She rushed up and hugged me. She said Esperame wait a second and ran off. She came back with 3 mandarinas and threw her arms around my neck. She kissed my shoulder and then kissed my cheek.
We started walking home. Dani started talking about how the man had had a moto accident about a month ago. He went on to talk about how asi es la vida, that's how life is and started to talk about God and Jesus and how through the Espiritu Santo we can feel things.
I left and went to the birthday party in Yatytay. After we got back, I was walking in the dark, in the rain back to Ceferina's house. I was overwhelmed with the thought; I almost doubled over crying; I felt sick to my stomach. How... How is it that I was born in the richest, most powerful country in the world? With access to everything I need? Born to a smart, successful, loving family?
HOW?
The 2 weeks of winter break ended up being the coldest days that I've experienced here. It rained everyday, and it was intensely cold. A couple of mornings, there was even frost. Although we didn't have heat, I still found our house to be much warmer than outside, and I pretty much fell off the face of the planet to the rest of my town because I hardly left the comfort of my sleeping bag. The only time I left my house was to go for a run in the afternoon. And the only reason I went for a run was to warm up my body so that the cold water of the shower wouldn't feel so frigid. The water was soo cold!! After about 3 weeks of living with the Zelayas and taking cold showers, Fredy showed me how to work the hot water. I had been embarrassed to say anything thinking that they didn't have hot water when really in the end, I was just embarrassed by my ignorance. They still love to laugh at the fact that I was taking freezing showers for 3 weeks.
August 16th, el Dia del Nino, is the Day of the Child. This day is a longstanding tradition because a long time ago when Paraguay was at war, there were no more men to fight so thousands and thousands of children went into the battlefields to fight for their country. For this reason, el 16 de agosto celebrates the children of Paraguay. In the school we had a big party; there was food, candy, cake, balloons... At the end of the day, the teachers got together for a game of volleyball, and they asked me to play. A little reluctant but unable to say no, I stepped in and started playing. As many of you know, I played volleyball all throughout high school, and it is definitely my favorite sport, but sadly Paraguayans put the game to shame. They play uglyyy volleyball without rules which means lots of cheating and lots of illegal hits. My team lost the first game, and I was annoyed. For the second game, I was determined to give a better show. A ball came flying deep and I set it into the air, but my momentum sent me flying backwards. To catch my fall, I put my hands down and CRACK! I jumped up and ran off towards the office. "Rompi mi brazo" I kept repeating. "I broke my arm." I looked down and saw the hump, my distorted bone. "I need someone to take me to the hospital in Hohenau," I announced calmly, Hohenau being a German town about an hour away. Then came the protests: "Why do you have to go all the way there?" "Why don't you go to the hospital here?" "I know this guy who could fix that for you." My thoughts: Have you seen how disgusting the hospital is here? And thanks but I don't want some toothless witch doctor rubbing herbs on my arm and massaging the bone back in place. I somehow survived the long and bumpy ride to Hohenau but eventually arrived to the Adventist Hospital, which turned out to be beautiful and well worth the trip. I ended up staying the night, and I often reminisce on that night of such peaceful sleep. I miss the luxury of a comfortable bed, heat, and an IV with "calmante" meds. I doubt many people would say they enjoyed their time in the hospital, but I would have gladly stayed longer.
The next day, in typical Paraguayan fashion, a procedure that was meant to start in the morning took place at 3 pm. I was put to sleep and woke up with my bone reset, a small pin in my wrist, and a huge plaster cast up above my elbow. I was to wear the cast for a month, and what a long month that was. I was lucky to have Ceferina, Fredy, and Marcos to take care of me; helping me put up my hair, get dressed, bathe. Uncomfortable, heavy, and limiting - that cast was my nemesis. At the same time though, it had some unseen benefits. One of the main goals of Peace Corps is sustainability, that is, teaching people to be proactive and self-sufficient. This is one of the challenges though, because a lot of our Paraguayan counterparts would rather be handed materials, resources, or ideas. During the time I had my cast, a lot of my projects in the schools were taking off. Since I was unable to use my arm, it removed me from being capable to do a lot of the things my teachers wanted me to do, therefore forcing them to do it.
During the month that I had my cast, I really came to appreciate having good health and good health care. I had a few really dark days during that time, where I felt sad, homesick, hopeless. It made me realize that those days, the days that I feel lazy, unmotivated, angry, or when my mind is somewhere else, are the days when I'm tired or sick. I learned that each day I have to prioritize making sure I am personally ok before I can commit the rest of my day to serving Paraguayans. It feels odd that the first step to being selfless involves being a bit selfish...
I couldn't have been happier to finally get my cast off. While it was not the first time that I had broken my arm (the 4th actually), it hopefully will be the last and definitely the most memorable.
Sometimes when reading memoirs or stories of people's travels, you read a conversation and think, "surely they didn't really say that.. Or at least, not in that way." Some conversations just seem disconnected or outlandish, and you feel like there's no way someone actually said that or had that train of thought. Well, I can now attest that sometimes those conversations are real. Word for word.
One evening, Ceferina and I were sitting at the kitchen table. She was in a particularly talkative mood so I stayed quiet and let her talk. Some prefacing important details are that 1) Paraguay has a problem with infidelity, 2) the culture in Paraguay is traditionally very machista, sexist, and 3) Ceferina has a 6th grade education and has never worked outside of her house. Our "conversation" went a bit like this:
Ceferina: I'm worried about Dani and Enrique studying to be priests. I don't know if they should do what people say or do what God says. They don't have any money, and they're not going to make any money. My sister says I should stop giving them money. How are they going to support themselves? And what are we going to do when my husband stops working? Who is going to support us? ... I would love to be able to work. I want to work in the church. I want to clean in the church. But my husband won't let me. He's too jealous. He says that I want to go work in the church so I can find another man. But I would never cheat on my husband because he told me if I did, he would kill me. Like he really would kill me... And I never text with anyone that lives around here. Because people here gossip. And if I was texting with someone, my husband would find out. So I text with men that live in Asuncion. I really love my boyfriend from when I was 13 years old. Sometimes I text with him... But I know my husband's been with other girls. When he's traveling. I won't tell you which one but before he tried to get with one of my sisters. I'm very jealous of her. You are the only woman in the world that I trust with my husband. I know you would never do anything... Really I would love to open a lavanderia (a place to wash clothes) from my house. People could bring their clothes here and pay me and I could wash and dry and iron them. Although I hate ironing... (she stops to think)
Me: What are you thinking about?
Ceferina: I'm just thinking about who I'm going to text with tonight...
Ceferina, Enrique, and Marcos in the back
From the moment I moved in with the Zelayas in July, the invitation was extended for me to live with them for my entire 2 years, the issue being that I had already signed the contract for my house in town. After making many pros and cons lists, after many protests from Fredy and Ceferina, after long conversations with my mom analyzing the internal conflict I was experiencing, I took the leap, and at the end of September, I moved into my own house. I don't know why I had so much anxiety about moving to live alone; I think I just really fell in love with that family and was afraid that I was going to miss out on an incredible experience of living with them for 2 years. If I could go back in time, I probably never would have signed the contract and would have stayed with my familia paraguaya pero asi es la vida. Now I am embracing the incredible personal experience of living alone. Turning a house into a home. Learning how to cook, clean, be completely independent. Travel to the depths of myself and back again. Should be a good trip. Stay tuned...
The view from my window at Ceferina's house one foggy sunrise.
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
FUERZA ALBIRROJA
Ever since I arrived in Paraguay in February, there was a constant buzz in the air. Everyone was talking, anxiously waiting, counting down to the moment where Paraguay, a country often forgotten, would be seen by people across the world. This moment finally came when June 11th began the magical month of the Copa Mundial: the World Cup.Paraguay had qualified as one of the South American teams and then was devastated when the team's best player, Salvador Cabanas, was shot in the head in a bar in Mexico. Although he fortunately survived the attack, it was obvious the Albirroja, Paraguay's team's nickname, would have to go to South Africa without him.
In the month leading up to the World Cup, the excitement was overflowing. The one channel on basic TV used every commercial break to do a countdown to Paraguay's first game. Mayor candidates printed off and passed out World Cup schedules in little pamphlets with their pictures and a "Vote for me!" cheesy smile on the back. And the red and white striped jersey became a national uniform, each fanatico sporting his or her favorite player's number.
Por fin, the games began. The one TV channel showed each and every game. Everywhere you looked people were crowded around a small TV screen, enjoying their two favorite things: futbol y terere. It was almost impossible to get any work done due to lack of motivation and the distraction of Shakira's "Waka Waka" World Cup theme song blasting from everyone's houses, cars, and cell phones.
June 14 - Paraguay vs. Italy
Our first game against who else but the world champions, the winners of 2006. With a patriotic hopefulness and a hint of fear, everyone donned their Albirrojas and found their seats in front of a TV. I came to my school on that day and found all of the students had brought their desks outside to set up camp in front of a redneck-rigged big screen TV. They had hung up a big black tarp to block the glare, and the kids were waving little Paraguay flags that they had colored. After the teachers spent an hour lecturing the kids on how they couldn't talk or get up during the game, we got word from the Municipalidad (last minute, in typical Paraguayan fashion) that it was a national holiday, canceling school and work. We stayed since everything was already set up, but needless to say, for the other games, the school was empty.
The national anthem played, the players took the field, and the first ball was kicked. Nerves raced through my entire body; I was freaking out! Paraguay scored the first goal and the screams, the horns, the fireworks let loose! Later Italy got their revenge, and we ended up tying 1-1. Regardless we emerged into the streets proud of our team and wiping the sweat off our brows that we survived our first partido.
June 20 - Paraguay vs. Slovakia
The family I was living with during the World Cup has 2 sons, ages 10 and 11, and they are futbol fanatics. Entonces when Paraguay's next game was scheduled for Sunday morning at 8:30, we were up at 5:00 am watching all of the coverage leading up to the game. They wanted me to teach them how to make waffles or "hotcakes cuadrados" as they say in Los Simpsons, but since there are no waffle makers in Paraguay, we settled for pancakes. After 10 pancakes and only one "batter spilled on Adrian's jersey" crisis, we sat down at the table to eat our pancakes and watch our team. Paraguay won easily 2-0 and left everyone feeling confident.June 24 - Paraguay vs. New Zealand
On this game day, a high school near by invited my friend De Los Santos and I to chaperone a field trip to visit the Yacyreta Dam, the second largest dam in the world. It's about 4 hours from my site, in the department of Misiones on the border with Argentina. Up at 5 am and traveling all morning, we finally arrived at the Visitors' Center. We passed through the Museum of Natural History, and as interesting as the animals, insects, and artifacts were, it was apparent that everyone was concerned about one thing: where were we going to watch the game? The dam's HR person showed up and announced that they had arranged for a projector screen, and everyone sighed with relief. Along with the students, teachers, and museum staff, we sat and watched Paraguay tie 0-0, "bore their way to the second round" as some newspapers said but we didn't care: we were in the second round!We spent the afternoon touring the dam and looking out over the River Paraguay. It was incredible to witness something so powerful and so innovative in a country so desolate. And for me, it was even more incredible to watch the high school students get the chance to see something new, something outside of the tiny towns where they have spent their entire lives. Coupled with the success of the Albirroja, I have really fond memories of that day.
June 29 - Paraguay vs. Japan
Progressing as first in our group, we arrived to the second round, where the elimination begins. "Si o si," yes or yes, we had to win to advance. I watched this game at home with my two host brothers and some neighbors, and by the end of the game, I had no more fingernails.Despite all of our awesome chances, we could not score, but luckily Japan couldn't either and the game resulted in penalty kicks. In a nervous excitement, I could hardly watch each time a player stepped up to take his shot, and the moment when a player from Japan's shot hit the crossbar will always replay in my mind. Their mistake, our win. Exactly as the players were rushing and dogpiling on the field so were all the little boys in my house. I did my best to take pictures of the celebration, but as always, it's hard to capture a moment so perfect. We rushed out to the street and headed towards the end of town where everybody in their jerseys on their motos, in their cars, with their flags constituted the caravan that drove up and down the main avenue for 2 hours. We were ecstatic.
July 3 - Paraguay vs. Spain
Before each game, I was always overwhelmed with excitement, washing by hand my Albirroja jersey and making plans for where to watch the game, but always in the back of the mind, I was fearing the moment when our World Cup road would finish. I was dreading it; I didn't want the magic to end.On July 2nd, I was reunited with all my Peace Corps friends when we all arrived in Asuncion. We had all traveled to the capital to attend the annual 4th of July cookout at the U.S. Embassy and spend the weekend in hotels with hot showers and speaking English. Although it was the middle of winter, Friday was a beautiful, warm day, and with the hamburgers, hot dogs, and Budweiser, I could have sworn we were back in the States.
Saturday morning, we headed with our terere and our red and white jerseys towards the plaza in the middle of the city to secure a spot for the game. There was music blaring, clowns on stilts, people on horses with carts painted red, white, and blue - a typical day in Paraguay. We grabbed seats in the bleachers in front of a giant screen which one of the mayor candidates had sponsored to show the game. As he yelled into a microphone over Waka Waka, people shot off fireworks and stretched a giant flag over the stands like a parachute. The buzz that I had felt since February was at its height.
The game was a wave of emotions - Absolute thrill when we scored a goal, which they ended up calling back... Hot anger when the referees made calls against us... Relief when Spain missed their PK too... And in the end, complete devastation when the clock ticked to 90 minutes and Spain left the field as the winners.
Our road had ended, but the caravans, the Albirrojas, the Waka Waka, the patriotism continued regardless.
When I was walking back to my hotel, this guy yelled out to me, in English, "We lost! But nobody cares... We're still the best."
I believe it, Paraguay... Lo creo.
Monday, August 23, 2010
What the hell do I do now?
After concluding our Pre-Service Training as champions of the talent show, we had one last task to complete before we were declared official Volunteers: our swearing-in ceremony. On Friday, April 30th, we each woke up with heavy minds and anxious hearts. This would be the day when we were to actually make an official declaration of our dedication to the people of Paraguay, a commitment to stay and work here for 2 years. Training was almost a tryout, an audition, and at the end, we would decide whether or not we made the cut.
After goodbyes with our host families, loading our luggage into dump trucks to be hauled to the Peace Corps office, and intense security reviews, we arrived at the U.S. Embassy. Dressed in our Sunday best, the 45 of us from our training group, G-32, took our seats and sat anxiously through numerous speeches from the Ambassador, our Country Director, and our fellow trainee, Rob. The chills we felt during their words of wisdom and inspiration turned to smiles and squeals as we raised our right hands and swore to serve our countries, the United States and Paraguay. At that moment, our 2 years began. Charged with lots of energy and our newfound responsibility, we spent the weekend in Asuncion, basking in a bit of "luxury" and savoring our last moments together before heading to our sites.
Tuesday morning, the charades came to a close, and I boarded the bus to travel to my site. My site is in the southeastern state of Itapua, a looong 9 hour bus ride away. Luckily I rarely have to travel alone seeing as my Team Ram Rod companion Erik lives 15 minutes from me in the next town over. On that May morning, the two Best Buds!! took the first of many bus trips from Asuncion to Itapua. 9 hours, 2 panic attacks thinking we were on the wrong bus, and lots of conversation, music, and naps later, we arrived. I shared a quick small talk with my new host family and retired to bed. I could hardly sleep, my thoughts swirling of my first day as a Volunteer.
Our Country Director always talks about the first day as a Volunteer when you wake up and say to yourself, "What the hell do I do now?" I woke up thinking exactly that but at the same time thrilled at the unsureness, the adventure of it all. I got up, ate breakfast, and headed to my school churning with excitement thinking about what I would do. Well, I got to school and found that that was already decided for me. The supervisor for all the schools in mine and Erik's county, Profesor Luis, had already planned my first day. We were going to Argentina.
He threw me in his car and whisked me away to a town called Triunfo which sits on the Rio Parana, the border with Argentina. We got out of the car and sat on the bank, watching the river. There was a cool fall breeze and I just remember thinking, as our CD had said but probably intended in a different way, "What the hell do I do now?"
After what felt like an awkward eternity, Luis was ready to go. We started back towards Natalio, my site, but on the way, stopped to visit some schools in Triunfo. I met the principals and the teachers and visited the classrooms. Afterward Luis told me that the schools in Triunfo wanted a Peace Corps Volunteer and asked if I could talk to my boss about getting someone sent there. In the back of my head, I was thinking, "I don't even know the principal and teachers at MY school!" but I shrugged it off and assured him I would do my best for Triunfo.
I arrived at my house that night dumbfounded and confused about how weird of a day I had had. When I laid down that night, I still couldn't quite wrap my head around how different my first day had been than what I had imagined. Looking back on that day, I can only laugh. If I have learned anything in my first three months in site it is that Paraguay is in control. My work, my happiness, my sanity depends on it, and instead of trying to control it, it's better for me to succumb to it. Instead of trying to guide Paraguay, I have to let Paraguay guide me. Because I assure you, it has a lot more surprises up its sleeve.
After goodbyes with our host families, loading our luggage into dump trucks to be hauled to the Peace Corps office, and intense security reviews, we arrived at the U.S. Embassy. Dressed in our Sunday best, the 45 of us from our training group, G-32, took our seats and sat anxiously through numerous speeches from the Ambassador, our Country Director, and our fellow trainee, Rob. The chills we felt during their words of wisdom and inspiration turned to smiles and squeals as we raised our right hands and swore to serve our countries, the United States and Paraguay. At that moment, our 2 years began. Charged with lots of energy and our newfound responsibility, we spent the weekend in Asuncion, basking in a bit of "luxury" and savoring our last moments together before heading to our sites.
Tuesday morning, the charades came to a close, and I boarded the bus to travel to my site. My site is in the southeastern state of Itapua, a looong 9 hour bus ride away. Luckily I rarely have to travel alone seeing as my Team Ram Rod companion Erik lives 15 minutes from me in the next town over. On that May morning, the two Best Buds!! took the first of many bus trips from Asuncion to Itapua. 9 hours, 2 panic attacks thinking we were on the wrong bus, and lots of conversation, music, and naps later, we arrived. I shared a quick small talk with my new host family and retired to bed. I could hardly sleep, my thoughts swirling of my first day as a Volunteer.
Our Country Director always talks about the first day as a Volunteer when you wake up and say to yourself, "What the hell do I do now?" I woke up thinking exactly that but at the same time thrilled at the unsureness, the adventure of it all. I got up, ate breakfast, and headed to my school churning with excitement thinking about what I would do. Well, I got to school and found that that was already decided for me. The supervisor for all the schools in mine and Erik's county, Profesor Luis, had already planned my first day. We were going to Argentina.
He threw me in his car and whisked me away to a town called Triunfo which sits on the Rio Parana, the border with Argentina. We got out of the car and sat on the bank, watching the river. There was a cool fall breeze and I just remember thinking, as our CD had said but probably intended in a different way, "What the hell do I do now?"
After what felt like an awkward eternity, Luis was ready to go. We started back towards Natalio, my site, but on the way, stopped to visit some schools in Triunfo. I met the principals and the teachers and visited the classrooms. Afterward Luis told me that the schools in Triunfo wanted a Peace Corps Volunteer and asked if I could talk to my boss about getting someone sent there. In the back of my head, I was thinking, "I don't even know the principal and teachers at MY school!" but I shrugged it off and assured him I would do my best for Triunfo.
I arrived at my house that night dumbfounded and confused about how weird of a day I had had. When I laid down that night, I still couldn't quite wrap my head around how different my first day had been than what I had imagined. Looking back on that day, I can only laugh. If I have learned anything in my first three months in site it is that Paraguay is in control. My work, my happiness, my sanity depends on it, and instead of trying to control it, it's better for me to succumb to it. Instead of trying to guide Paraguay, I have to let Paraguay guide me. Because I assure you, it has a lot more surprises up its sleeve.
Talent Show Champs!
Talent Show Champs!!
A statistic says that 90% of rural Paraguayans suffer from intestinal parasites. These parasites can have damaging effects on one's health and daily wellbeing. One of the easiest ways to prevent sevo'i from entering the body is by wearing shoes, which many Paraguayans, especially children do not do. As Education volunteers, we can play a vital role in bringing information to these communities on how to prevent and treat parasites. So while TRR did dental health charlas for Long Field Practice, another group did charlas in schools in another part of the country on parasite prevention. After a week of back-to-back charlas, this group had mastered their song in Guarani, "Areko che zapatu," which encourages children to wear their shoes and avoid getting sevo'i.
As the 11 weeks of tiresome training wrapped up, we had one last challenge. On the last day of training, there would be a talent show in Guarambare, and Schaefer put the pressure on when she said the Education group had won the past 3 years in a row. As we bounced around ideas of what we would do, we went back to Long Field. TRR remembered how we had fired ourselves up on the last day of our dental charlas, and we combined that memory with the Areko che zapatu song, and this was the result:
(These are the lyrics. It wouldn't let me load the video!)
Areko che zapatu REMIXXX
Man I see you playing futbol afterschool
Why you not wearing no zapatu (shoe)?
So listen up all you little mita'i (kid)
you don't want to quedar w that chivivi (explosive diarrhea)
we're education and we're here to say
you gotta wash your hands everyday
and while we're at it can't you see
we're doing participatory activities
promoting gender equality
bc we don't like our ladies with sevo'i (worms)
you know what you necesitas (need)
you need some gd zapatillas (flip flops)
that's right big booty i'm looking at you
why you ain't wearing no zapatu (shoe)
now when i say sevo you say i sevo'i sevo'i
and when i say zapa you say tu zapatu zapatu
now papa miguel's gotta pass the mike
to my brother rikzilla come and say what you like
listen to me i'll give you the scoop
ghiardhia ain't a joke son it's frothy poop
you don't get it from kissin
so stop drop and listen
heed my advice or from your butt you'll be pissin
no drip from your ano (anus) when you lava los manos (wash your hands)
cuidate (take care of yourself) everyday keep your shit sano (healthy)
now when i say frothy you say poo frothy poo frothy poo
and when i say lava you say po lava po lava po
listen to ricardo this is why they train us
bc we don't want worms coming out of our anus
thanks for listening to our charlita (presentation)
you can pay us back with a cervezita (beer)
we're triple e with annmarie coming at you from naranjaisUH
A statistic says that 90% of rural Paraguayans suffer from intestinal parasites. These parasites can have damaging effects on one's health and daily wellbeing. One of the easiest ways to prevent sevo'i from entering the body is by wearing shoes, which many Paraguayans, especially children do not do. As Education volunteers, we can play a vital role in bringing information to these communities on how to prevent and treat parasites. So while TRR did dental health charlas for Long Field Practice, another group did charlas in schools in another part of the country on parasite prevention. After a week of back-to-back charlas, this group had mastered their song in Guarani, "Areko che zapatu," which encourages children to wear their shoes and avoid getting sevo'i.
As the 11 weeks of tiresome training wrapped up, we had one last challenge. On the last day of training, there would be a talent show in Guarambare, and Schaefer put the pressure on when she said the Education group had won the past 3 years in a row. As we bounced around ideas of what we would do, we went back to Long Field. TRR remembered how we had fired ourselves up on the last day of our dental charlas, and we combined that memory with the Areko che zapatu song, and this was the result:
(These are the lyrics. It wouldn't let me load the video!)
Areko che zapatu REMIXXX
Man I see you playing futbol afterschool
Why you not wearing no zapatu (shoe)?
So listen up all you little mita'i (kid)
you don't want to quedar w that chivivi (explosive diarrhea)
we're education and we're here to say
you gotta wash your hands everyday
and while we're at it can't you see
we're doing participatory activities
promoting gender equality
bc we don't like our ladies with sevo'i (worms)
you know what you necesitas (need)
you need some gd zapatillas (flip flops)
that's right big booty i'm looking at you
why you ain't wearing no zapatu (shoe)
now when i say sevo you say i sevo'i sevo'i
and when i say zapa you say tu zapatu zapatu
now papa miguel's gotta pass the mike
to my brother rikzilla come and say what you like
listen to me i'll give you the scoop
ghiardhia ain't a joke son it's frothy poop
you don't get it from kissin
so stop drop and listen
heed my advice or from your butt you'll be pissin
no drip from your ano (anus) when you lava los manos (wash your hands)
cuidate (take care of yourself) everyday keep your shit sano (healthy)
now when i say frothy you say poo frothy poo frothy poo
and when i say lava you say po lava po lava po
listen to ricardo this is why they train us
bc we don't want worms coming out of our anus
thanks for listening to our charlita (presentation)
you can pay us back with a cervezita (beer)
we're triple e with annmarie coming at you from naranjaisUH
Friday, June 18, 2010
Long Field Practice
During our three months of training, we didn't spend everyday in the classroom. In an effort to give us more field experience, Peace Corps arranges a series of excursions where we visit current Volunteers in their sites. The first was just a casual Volunteer visit to give us a better idea of the living situation and daily life of Volunteers; the second, for the Education Volunteers, was a visit to a Volunteer's library that she has created at her school. At the end of March, we went on our longest, most involved excursion called Long Field Practice, and it ended up being my best week of training.
Our technical trainer, Ana Maria a.k.a. Schafer, made contact with current Volunteers and divided the 12 of us into 3 groups that would go live and work with the Volunteers for a week. My group consisted of two of my best friends, Erik and Miguel, and thus was born Team Ram Rod, our alternative identity. We were assigned to visit a Volunteer in the compania (rural town) of Martinezkue, and we were to do dental health charlas in the schools at her site. Monday morning, TRR showed up with our bags packed, ready to roll.
2 hours on the highway and 5k on a bumpy, campo road later, we arrived at Martinezkue. We were amazed at how beautiful her site was; it looked different than the rest of Paraguay that we had seen so far. Martinezkue kind of sits on a big hill, mountain if you will, and has a gorgeous view out on the other rolling hills and other fields. The air was a little cooler and damper, and it happened to be a grey, windy fall day, the kind I love. This site had about 750 people, and it was all centered around one main dirt road, a school, and a soccer field. Unlike other campo sites, the houses were all close together, and it really had a communal feel.
Shortly after arriving, we were introduced to the families with whom we would be staying. Miguel was assigned to a family whose parents only spoke Guarani, and Erik, who loves soccer, was assigned to the soccer coach's house. I ended up being Erik's neighbor and stayed with the sweetest family. Arminda, the mom, was 28, and her husband had recently left to go work in Argentina. She was extremely humble and hardworking, and I was happy to get to spend time with her all week because I think she had been feeling pretty lonely. Arminda has two adorable children, Marcos (5) and Arami (7), and also her husband's mom, who was just as adorable as the kids, lives there too. As the grey day turned into a thunderstorm, we sat in the open hallway of their house, drinking mate while the kids watched Los Simpsons. Later that night at dinner, the electricity went out, and we just sat in the dark altogether. When you lose one sense, the others become more attentive, and in this moment, I felt intensely aware of my surroundings. I could taste the tortilla I was eating. I could hear the rumble of the thunder and the trickle of the rain. I could smell the smoke from the wood oven in the kitchen. Most of all, I could feel the ironic beauty of my situation. Here I was by myself, with a family I had just met, in a place that I had never visited, in a culture that I will probably never completely understand... and yet I felt safe. Comfortable. Happy.
Later that night, I went to use the bathroom before going to bed. Using Arminda's cell phone, I found in the dark the latrine hole over which I was to hover. Right when I made it to the bathroom, it started downpouring the rain, and I started laughing and I could hear Arminda and Abuela and the kids dying laughing too. So after I finished peeing, I had to run through the torrential rains and the mud to get back to my house, and we laughed for another 5 minutes. Although it was only 8:00, we all retired to our bedrooms and were soothed to sleep by the pitter-patter of the rain. But 2 hours later, I was abruptly woken up. I had to pee. Reeeeeally bad. I've begun to notice a trend in Paraguay - I only have to pee during the night if the bathroom is conveniently outside. So at this point in the night, I was faced with a dilemma. The bathroom was outside. I would have to get up, figure out the locks in the dark, probably wake up my family. Plus before going to bed, Arminda told me about how she lets her dog in the house at night and how he doesn't like strangers and has bit people before. On top of all that, it was still pouring the rain, thundering, and lightening. I wasn't sure what to do, but I knew I couldn't wait much longer. Then I remembered - before going to bed, Aguela had given me a cup of water. So I opened up my window and dumped out the water that was still in the glass. I then proceeded to hover over my bedroom floor and filled up the glass 3 times with my pee, tossing it out the window to join the rain each time. It was in this moment, I knew I had arrived - I could officially say I am in the Peace Corps.
We woke up the next morning to find the town extremely washed out from all the rain. In Paraguay, when it rains, the world shuts down so there was absolutely no one in the street. School was canceled so we were unable to do our charlas with the students. Instead we spent the day with the current Volunteer organizing the beautiful school library that she and the preceding Volunteer had built. Dozens of boxes of books sat waiting to be labeled; needless to say, we had our work cut out for us. It was really humbling to see this library, to see a place so rich with educational resources when the rest of the country is so desolate. At one point, I was looking through the books on the shelves and found a stamp inside that said "Donated by the Kiwanis Club of Topeka, Kansas." The previous Volunteer in Martinezkue, the one who started this library, was from Kansas, and I found it so inspiring that forever this community will have remnants of the work that she did there.
The next day, TRR began our dental health charlas. In each classroom from Kindergarten to 6th grade, we did our skits, sang our songs, spoke our tattered Guarani in an attempt to teach the students how to take care of their teeth. And even more, to teach them to WANT to take care of their teeth. There is a general misunderstanding in Paraguay about the value in taking care of our teeth, especially baby teeth. People don't regularly brush their teeth, and they consume entirely too much sugar. Too many times have I met an attractive man, woman, an adorable child, yet when they open their mouth, it's a MESS. Either their teeth are yellow, brown, rotting away, or they have no teeth because once a tooth goes bad here, they just extract it. Our biggest concern is that having poor dental health must be paaainful. But on top of that, it distracts students in school, contributes to malnutrition, and damages self-esteem. The severity of the issues with oral health were made clear to TRR the next day when we did our dental charlas in a rural school about an hour from Martinezkue.
That morning, we woke up with the roosters, bright and early around 6 and began our journey deeper into the campo. Dodging puddles, slipping in the mud, jumping across creeks made by the torrential rains a couple days before, we trekked for about an hour in a single file line until we arrived at the school where we would be teaching that day. Set on the top of a green hill, it sat: 3 dark classrooms, a well, and a set of bathrooms with no running water. Humble as it was, it set the scene for the most incredible day.
Before going into our first classroom, the 3 of us decided to gear up and make a pact to teach with as much enthusiasm and ridiculousness as possible. (We actually envisioned a DJ announcing us and me dropping in from the ceiling, but that's a different story... the next blog post.) Full of animation, we began our charla to find that the students spoke hardly any Spanish and the teacher had to translate everything into Guarani. Regardless we carried on, and the kids loved it, and the teacher too. At one point, we did this silly skit where this duck is looking for his toothbrush and goes through asking each animal if he's seen it. At the end, he finds out that Gallo Gonzalez (a rooster) had taken it to use as a hairbrush, and when we gave the punchline, the teacher burst out laughing and even five minutes later was still muttering to himself, "Gallo Gonzalez... I knew it all along." It still kills me; I'm actually chuckling to myself as I write this.
One aspect of Peace Corps work is providing information, but another important part is connecting people with resources. All of these dental health charlas would be a waste if the students still didn't have the materials to take care of their teeth. So as a result of a lot of work done by the current Volunteer, after our charla, we were able to distribute to the children toothbrushes and toothpaste as part of a initiative to get the entire school brushing everyday after recess. As we finished our charla, we accompanied the class out to the well. The students filled up their cups, and we walked around putting blobs of toothpaste on their brand new toothbrushes. We then walked them through the correct way to brush, which we had covered in our charla. Making small circles, on all sides of the tooth, and the tongue too. Some kids were holding their toothbrushes almost like flutes, and we had to fix their hands. We forgot to tell the kids to spit when they had a lot of foam in their mouths, and it was hilariously adorable watching the toothpaste drip out of their mouths while they looked extremely confused.
Sometimes the weight of our work can be daunting. I look around at an impoverished, sometimes backwards world, and I wonder how we're ever going to make any progress. But on that day, watching those children brush their teeth for obviously the first time in their lives, I felt successful. Fulfilled. Awestruck.
The next morning, we woke up and packed our bags to return to our training community of Naranjaisy. I walked Marcos and Arami to school and came back to share mate with Arminda and Abuela before I left. I walked with Aguela to the altar of crosses in the shack beside their house which was put on display in memory of her husband who died 5 years ago. She held my hands as she prayed for me and for her family, and she cried as she told me about her constant headache and how she wasn't sure if she would see me again. I wiped away her tears and hugged her, struggling to hold back my own. Arminda helped me with my bags as I walked to the vehiculo that came to take us home. I thanked her for her hospitality and promised as soon as I had a cell phone I would call her. When I got in the car, I found in my backpack a little dove and a picture that Arami had drawn, saying that she loved me and she hoped I would come back.
TRR rode back a lot quieter than when we had came; I think we were all lamenting a bit our departure. When we got back to our school in Naranjaisy, the place that we are always in a rush to get out of, we lingered for almost 2 hours, reliving the week. It was like in those 5 days, everything finally came full circle. Our friendships with each other were finally solidified. We felt a deeper attachment to another place, people of Paraguay. And we worked in a way that improved the lives of a group of Paraguayans hopefully forever.
On the last day of training, Schafer had us go around and name 3 times in training that we were happy. Needless to say, all 3 members of Team Ram Rod fondly reminisced on the week of Practica Larga.
Saturday, May 8, 2010
Imagine this...
Imagine a school system where.....
Students only go to school for 4 hours a day. The school day lasts from 7 a.m. to 11 a.m. and then 1 p.m. to 5 p.m. but only certain grades meet in the morning and others in the afternoon.
And in that 4 hours a day, school begins with a flag ceremony which usually starts 15 minutes late, and then halfway through a 30 minute recess is taken, and then 15 minutes before school ends, the students have to clean up the school grounds. How much time are we down to... 3 hours??
And in that 3 hours, the students sit in concrete classrooms in wooden desks, in some schools without fans in the 100 degree heat. The teacher comes to the front of the classroom and begins writing the day's lesson on the board in perfect handwriting, using a ruler to make her lines. Oops, she messed up.. Better erase and start over. In the meantime, students are expected to sit quietly at their desks. Once the teacher finishes her lesson, with the interruption of yelling at the kids 3 times, the students begin their day's work of copying into their notebooks the information the teacher wrote on the board. They too must write in perfect script, and when they are finished, they show it to the teacher. For the ones who finish early, they are either expected to keep sitting quietly or in some cases, they are allowed to go running in and out of the classroom and around the school. And those that don't finish... well, I don't know what they do to be honest. Rarely is a teacher willing to stay after school and where else can that student get the information but in that aula (classroom)?
Imagine a school system where....
Teachers studied for 3 years out of 9th grade but instead of studying teaching methods and child psychology, they are only required to take higher level general education classes.
Directores (principals) and supervisores (superintendents) rose to the top not through merit but through connections and social status.
If your parents can't afford the school uniform, you can't go to school.
Some schools don't have bathrooms let alone fans.
The school cantina (snack center) sells fried empanadas, lollipops, and chocolate cookies to a society that is already deprived of nutritious foods.
Students enter speaking mainly Guarani (Jopara really, a mix of Guarani and Spanish), but the teachers teach only in Spanish. Then when students get to 6th grade (if they make it that far), they have Guarani class, which teaches the pure, old Guarani.
The poor student with head lice and is always dirty has to sit in the back, and the #1 student, which is ranked starting in elementary school, is invited to do everything - sit in the front, change the flag, walk in the community parade.
Boys play soccer all recess while girls are almost forced to sit and giggle and gossip. Their uniforms are skirts for Christ's sake! Try playing in that!
90% of the rural population of Paraguay has intestinal parasites, and instead of preventing, treating, or even acknowledging these illnesses, students have to carry on in school even with their symptoms.
A majority of the mouths of a majority of the children are filled with cavities. Some so painful that they can't even open their mouths.
Textbooks and storybooks are hard to come by, and even when a school has a library, the teachers don't want to lend the books out because they want to keep them safe and nice.
All of the posters in the classroom, if there are any, are in English because the same poster doesn't exist in Spanish or Guarani.
Lower socioeconomic schools (Title 1 in the US), which happen to be pretty much all schools, are supposed to receive free milk and bread from the government, but the further you get from Asuncion, the less likely you are going to get your milk.
If a child has special needs, they do not go to school.
Most parents only have a basic education level and work in the house and on the farm.
If a boy is good enough, he could play in the local semi-professional soccer league and make more money and have a more relaxed lifestyle than any other job.
If it rains, school is canceled. While schools are expected to have 180 days, my technical trainer said last year she doesn't think they even had 100.
These are all problems that plague the Paraguayan school system. What's even scarier to me is to think about the kind of society that this educational system creates...
Another thing to think about... In training, we were given the following statistic: On the United Nations Human Development Index, which is a global measurement of the quality of life and access to basic needs, out of 182 countries, Paraguay is ranked #101. The rural areas of Paraguay is comparable to Kenya, which is ranked #147. Asuncion, the capital, is comparable to Israel, which is ranked #27. Something seems wrong, doesn't it??
Students only go to school for 4 hours a day. The school day lasts from 7 a.m. to 11 a.m. and then 1 p.m. to 5 p.m. but only certain grades meet in the morning and others in the afternoon.
And in that 4 hours a day, school begins with a flag ceremony which usually starts 15 minutes late, and then halfway through a 30 minute recess is taken, and then 15 minutes before school ends, the students have to clean up the school grounds. How much time are we down to... 3 hours??
And in that 3 hours, the students sit in concrete classrooms in wooden desks, in some schools without fans in the 100 degree heat. The teacher comes to the front of the classroom and begins writing the day's lesson on the board in perfect handwriting, using a ruler to make her lines. Oops, she messed up.. Better erase and start over. In the meantime, students are expected to sit quietly at their desks. Once the teacher finishes her lesson, with the interruption of yelling at the kids 3 times, the students begin their day's work of copying into their notebooks the information the teacher wrote on the board. They too must write in perfect script, and when they are finished, they show it to the teacher. For the ones who finish early, they are either expected to keep sitting quietly or in some cases, they are allowed to go running in and out of the classroom and around the school. And those that don't finish... well, I don't know what they do to be honest. Rarely is a teacher willing to stay after school and where else can that student get the information but in that aula (classroom)?
Imagine a school system where....
Teachers studied for 3 years out of 9th grade but instead of studying teaching methods and child psychology, they are only required to take higher level general education classes.
Directores (principals) and supervisores (superintendents) rose to the top not through merit but through connections and social status.
If your parents can't afford the school uniform, you can't go to school.
Some schools don't have bathrooms let alone fans.
The school cantina (snack center) sells fried empanadas, lollipops, and chocolate cookies to a society that is already deprived of nutritious foods.
Students enter speaking mainly Guarani (Jopara really, a mix of Guarani and Spanish), but the teachers teach only in Spanish. Then when students get to 6th grade (if they make it that far), they have Guarani class, which teaches the pure, old Guarani.
The poor student with head lice and is always dirty has to sit in the back, and the #1 student, which is ranked starting in elementary school, is invited to do everything - sit in the front, change the flag, walk in the community parade.
Boys play soccer all recess while girls are almost forced to sit and giggle and gossip. Their uniforms are skirts for Christ's sake! Try playing in that!
90% of the rural population of Paraguay has intestinal parasites, and instead of preventing, treating, or even acknowledging these illnesses, students have to carry on in school even with their symptoms.
A majority of the mouths of a majority of the children are filled with cavities. Some so painful that they can't even open their mouths.
Textbooks and storybooks are hard to come by, and even when a school has a library, the teachers don't want to lend the books out because they want to keep them safe and nice.
All of the posters in the classroom, if there are any, are in English because the same poster doesn't exist in Spanish or Guarani.
Lower socioeconomic schools (Title 1 in the US), which happen to be pretty much all schools, are supposed to receive free milk and bread from the government, but the further you get from Asuncion, the less likely you are going to get your milk.
If a child has special needs, they do not go to school.
Most parents only have a basic education level and work in the house and on the farm.
If a boy is good enough, he could play in the local semi-professional soccer league and make more money and have a more relaxed lifestyle than any other job.
If it rains, school is canceled. While schools are expected to have 180 days, my technical trainer said last year she doesn't think they even had 100.
These are all problems that plague the Paraguayan school system. What's even scarier to me is to think about the kind of society that this educational system creates...
Another thing to think about... In training, we were given the following statistic: On the United Nations Human Development Index, which is a global measurement of the quality of life and access to basic needs, out of 182 countries, Paraguay is ranked #101. The rural areas of Paraguay is comparable to Kenya, which is ranked #147. Asuncion, the capital, is comparable to Israel, which is ranked #27. Something seems wrong, doesn't it??
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
A day in the life...
4:00 A.M.
COCK A Doodull Durr....
This was the ryguasu's first call of the morning. There should be about 3 more before it's time for me to get up for the day.
I squeeze open my eyes to look out of my window. Yep, still dark out. I can always tell when it's his first attempt at waking the day: he loses his confidence halfway through. He starts strong and loud and then falls off and by the end sounds like he has something caught in his throat. He knows it's a bit too early to really try to get everybody up, but it's his job. He waits all night to do this; can I really blame him?
I peel my sweaty self from the sheets and slowly, gently turn my head in the other direction; it's always so sore from laying in the same position all night in a slightly less than comfortable bed. And for the next two hours, I try to ignore the sweltering heat and coax myself back to sleep with the squeaky rhythm of my fan.
6:29 A.M.
My body timer goes off.
6:30 A.M.
My mom knocks on my door, officially waking me up. Once again peeling myself from the sheets, I stumble to the bathroom where a cold shower washes away the sweat, the bug spray, and any of the confusion I felt from waking up yet again in Paraguay. Clean and fresquita, I take a seat at the kitchen table where I find a mug of fake coffee and some little breadsticks waiting for me. I accepted long ago that this is my "breakfast" in Paraguay, and after I down it, I grab a bag yogurt and a straw to take to school as my real breakfast.
7:40 A.M.
Knock knock again.
"Lizi, ya es la hora!" - "Lizzie, it's time to go!" (The urgency is hilarious.)
"Ya? Ok ok gracias!" - "Already? Ok ok thanks!"
I quickly gather my stuff, kiss my parents goodbye, and...
7:41 A.M.
arrive at school! Phew, long journey. All I have to do is cross the ruta and there I am!
"Buen dia." "Mba'eichapa." I am greeted by our 3 language teachers as well as the members of my newfound family, the other 11 Education volunteers.
"Oh you have diarrhea today? That sucks." "Yeah, the dog fight woke me up at 2 A.M. too! WTF." "Wait... where the hell am I? Paraguay?? For HOW long??"
Before we can further contemplate any of this ridiculousness, we are called inside for language class. For 3 and a half hours, we butcher the indigenous language of Guarani. In three small groups, we work with our saintly patient Paraguayan teachers, passing around basic questions and phrases.
"Che cherera Lizzie. Che aspirante Cuerpo de Pazpegua. Amba'apota educacionpe. Areko 22 ano ha che familia oreko 8 ryguasu." (I'm sure you can figure out this Jopara, the Spanish-Guarani mix. Ryguasu = the wonderful creature that wakes me every morning that I previously mentioned.)
Throughout our class, we revert to our high school habits of attempting to get our teacher off-topic, taking (sometimes much needed) extended bathroom breaks in order to miss class, and trying to streeeeetch out recesos for as long as possible. When our language teachers finally give up hope and let us leave 10 minutes early, we always walk away with our heads hanging a bit low. Guarani is so hard. And class is so long and exhausting. At the same time, we know how important it is. Guarani is the mother tongue, the pride of the people, a preserved piece of an ancient history. It's the only way to talk to children, essential for our work in the schools, the only way to keep up in a conversation. Without it, we will sink. Guarani is the key to a Paraguayan's heart.
11:30 A.M.
Guarani along with terere, which is waiting for me as I walk up to my house. I take a seat on the front patio amidst my family and neighbors, all seeking refuge under the cool shadiness of our guayaba tree. My mom shakes some ice cold water from her termo into the guampa full of yerba which she passes to me. I suck the terere through the guampa and feel instantly refreshed. "He la terere - the terere is delicious" I recite as I pass the cup back. My host mom shakes out more water and continues to pass the cup to each member of our circle. And we sit.
12:00 P.M.
Lunch - the biggest meal of the day. My family's lunch seems to stick to a formula. It's like choose one from each column:
Orange greasy soup Orange greasy sauce
White rice White pasta White bread balls
Pork Chicken Beef
White bread rolls Mandioca
I can never finish the enormous serving Mama gives me, but she never minds. "It's good not to always clean your plate.. That way you won't get fat." I laugh and fight the temptation to tell her that I AM actually getting fat and the delightful carb-rich Paraguayan diet is the culprit. Instead I mosey along to my room for my hour-long nap before returning to school in the afternoon.
1:00 P.M.
The 12 of us lazily arrive back at our school, stuffed from almuerzo and not fully awake from our siesta. Our afternoon sessions consist of technical training, where we learn about the troubles of Paraguayan schools and attempt to distinguish our role in their improvement. The topic, activities, and structure of our afternoon sessions always change, but one thing remains the same: somewhere around 3:00, we fall into delirium, giggling at every stupid thing, and by 4:00, our eyes are glazed over and we're half-asleep. The minute hand ticks over to read 5:00 P.M. and we immediately grab our stuff and dart out the door. Freeee at last.
5:00 P.M.
Free time. Ahh, the paradox of Peace Corps. Technically, we're not in school anymore; our "work day" has ended. But in Peace Corps, you are a Volunteer 24/7, which means that you are actually always on the clock. What might give the illusion as free time is actually an extension of your work. Free time is an opportunity to get to know people, learn more about Paraguay, shave off a bit of your American shell and remold yourself as a more fitting piece of the PCPY puzzle. But even as a PC Volunteer, we are still individuals, and it is equally as important that we hang on to the characteristics that constitute who we are. Who we are as Americans, who we are as Volunteers, who I am as a woman, who I am as a teacher, who I am as a friend, who I am as a person...
All of these thoughts swarming around in my head as I try to figure out the rest of my day. Some evenings I go running which consists of darting in and out of the obstacle course of running in Paraguay: dodging chickens, stepping aside as a motorcycle flies by, trucking through the red dirt roads (sometimes a silky quicksand, other times a rocky, uneven danger zone), the 95 degree sun beating on my neck, having to say hello to every person I pass--all while trying to keep my stride. Sometimes I spend the entire evening sipping terere as a way of cooling down and relaxing after a long day at school. Sometimes I read or study or write in my journal and my family and all my neighbors have to comment on how amazingly studious I am. Bahaha. Sometimes I share 1 or 2 hour conversations with random people which probably wouldn't be as long if I didn't have to ask them to repeat everything they say when an 18 wheeler passes through on the ruta. Never a dull moment in Paraguay...
6:15 P.M.
Regardless of how I pass my evenings, they always end the same way. Like clockwork when the sun hangs low in the west and begins to dip behind the palm trees, I cross the ruta and head up towards the house of my cousin. Once I come into view, I see the metal gate flung open and my three favorite boys begin sprinting down the dirt road. Pedro (4), Jojo (4), and Emilio (11). Beautiful smiling faces beaming towards me and in this moment, I am happy. They leap into my arms and we all crash into a group hug and "holas" and kisses go flying. Everyday it's the same. And everyday it makes my day.
We turn and head on to the cancha (field) behind their house, and we play volleyball and soccer with a flat ball that usually ends up looking more like a rag than anything. We sweat, we play, we laugh. And when the sun finally sets and the mosquitoes come out, we head back to their house and keep playing partido, soccer, in their yard by the light of the street lamp.
"Che nde lado!" (I'm on your team!) "Dale!" (C'mon!) "GOOOOOOOLLLLLLL!!!!" Emilio, the ridiculously good ball handler, screams as he runs around rubbing his lead in my face. Honestly sometimes he's even run to the spicket and gargles water while yelling gooooolllll! I always want to smack him. We usually play to 15, and Emi usually wins, and I usually find myself walking home feeling completely cleansed and content.
8:00 P.M.
I come home to find my family and a handful of stragglers sitting on our porch in front of the despensa (little store that we run out of our house) just watching the cars pass and the wind blow. I spend some time small-talking with them before making it inside for a late, light dinner, usually a grilled cheese or empanadas.
With a full stomach and a tired body, I drag myself to the shower and begin rinsing off the day. I always feel so surprised while at the same time relieved because despite whatever ups and downs I have endured through the day, I always feel happy when I lay down at night.
And always, when I look down at my feet, I see that I have once again failed to completely rinse off all of the red dirt from my ankles, my toes. It bleeds into my skin, and I realize that Paraguay has already become a part of me, and I realize that I will wake up tomorrow with feet that are a little bit redder, and a heart that is a little bit more committed to this life, to this place.
COCK A Doodull Durr....
This was the ryguasu's first call of the morning. There should be about 3 more before it's time for me to get up for the day.
I squeeze open my eyes to look out of my window. Yep, still dark out. I can always tell when it's his first attempt at waking the day: he loses his confidence halfway through. He starts strong and loud and then falls off and by the end sounds like he has something caught in his throat. He knows it's a bit too early to really try to get everybody up, but it's his job. He waits all night to do this; can I really blame him?
I peel my sweaty self from the sheets and slowly, gently turn my head in the other direction; it's always so sore from laying in the same position all night in a slightly less than comfortable bed. And for the next two hours, I try to ignore the sweltering heat and coax myself back to sleep with the squeaky rhythm of my fan.
6:29 A.M.
My body timer goes off.
6:30 A.M.
My mom knocks on my door, officially waking me up. Once again peeling myself from the sheets, I stumble to the bathroom where a cold shower washes away the sweat, the bug spray, and any of the confusion I felt from waking up yet again in Paraguay. Clean and fresquita, I take a seat at the kitchen table where I find a mug of fake coffee and some little breadsticks waiting for me. I accepted long ago that this is my "breakfast" in Paraguay, and after I down it, I grab a bag yogurt and a straw to take to school as my real breakfast.
7:40 A.M.
Knock knock again.
"Lizi, ya es la hora!" - "Lizzie, it's time to go!" (The urgency is hilarious.)
"Ya? Ok ok gracias!" - "Already? Ok ok thanks!"
I quickly gather my stuff, kiss my parents goodbye, and...
7:41 A.M.
arrive at school! Phew, long journey. All I have to do is cross the ruta and there I am!
"Buen dia." "Mba'eichapa." I am greeted by our 3 language teachers as well as the members of my newfound family, the other 11 Education volunteers.
"Oh you have diarrhea today? That sucks." "Yeah, the dog fight woke me up at 2 A.M. too! WTF." "Wait... where the hell am I? Paraguay?? For HOW long??"
Before we can further contemplate any of this ridiculousness, we are called inside for language class. For 3 and a half hours, we butcher the indigenous language of Guarani. In three small groups, we work with our saintly patient Paraguayan teachers, passing around basic questions and phrases.
"Che cherera Lizzie. Che aspirante Cuerpo de Pazpegua. Amba'apota educacionpe. Areko 22 ano ha che familia oreko 8 ryguasu." (I'm sure you can figure out this Jopara, the Spanish-Guarani mix. Ryguasu = the wonderful creature that wakes me every morning that I previously mentioned.)
Throughout our class, we revert to our high school habits of attempting to get our teacher off-topic, taking (sometimes much needed) extended bathroom breaks in order to miss class, and trying to streeeeetch out recesos for as long as possible. When our language teachers finally give up hope and let us leave 10 minutes early, we always walk away with our heads hanging a bit low. Guarani is so hard. And class is so long and exhausting. At the same time, we know how important it is. Guarani is the mother tongue, the pride of the people, a preserved piece of an ancient history. It's the only way to talk to children, essential for our work in the schools, the only way to keep up in a conversation. Without it, we will sink. Guarani is the key to a Paraguayan's heart.
11:30 A.M.
Guarani along with terere, which is waiting for me as I walk up to my house. I take a seat on the front patio amidst my family and neighbors, all seeking refuge under the cool shadiness of our guayaba tree. My mom shakes some ice cold water from her termo into the guampa full of yerba which she passes to me. I suck the terere through the guampa and feel instantly refreshed. "He la terere - the terere is delicious" I recite as I pass the cup back. My host mom shakes out more water and continues to pass the cup to each member of our circle. And we sit.
12:00 P.M.
Lunch - the biggest meal of the day. My family's lunch seems to stick to a formula. It's like choose one from each column:
Orange greasy soup Orange greasy sauce
White rice White pasta White bread balls
Pork Chicken Beef
White bread rolls Mandioca
I can never finish the enormous serving Mama gives me, but she never minds. "It's good not to always clean your plate.. That way you won't get fat." I laugh and fight the temptation to tell her that I AM actually getting fat and the delightful carb-rich Paraguayan diet is the culprit. Instead I mosey along to my room for my hour-long nap before returning to school in the afternoon.
1:00 P.M.
The 12 of us lazily arrive back at our school, stuffed from almuerzo and not fully awake from our siesta. Our afternoon sessions consist of technical training, where we learn about the troubles of Paraguayan schools and attempt to distinguish our role in their improvement. The topic, activities, and structure of our afternoon sessions always change, but one thing remains the same: somewhere around 3:00, we fall into delirium, giggling at every stupid thing, and by 4:00, our eyes are glazed over and we're half-asleep. The minute hand ticks over to read 5:00 P.M. and we immediately grab our stuff and dart out the door. Freeee at last.
5:00 P.M.
Free time. Ahh, the paradox of Peace Corps. Technically, we're not in school anymore; our "work day" has ended. But in Peace Corps, you are a Volunteer 24/7, which means that you are actually always on the clock. What might give the illusion as free time is actually an extension of your work. Free time is an opportunity to get to know people, learn more about Paraguay, shave off a bit of your American shell and remold yourself as a more fitting piece of the PCPY puzzle. But even as a PC Volunteer, we are still individuals, and it is equally as important that we hang on to the characteristics that constitute who we are. Who we are as Americans, who we are as Volunteers, who I am as a woman, who I am as a teacher, who I am as a friend, who I am as a person...
All of these thoughts swarming around in my head as I try to figure out the rest of my day. Some evenings I go running which consists of darting in and out of the obstacle course of running in Paraguay: dodging chickens, stepping aside as a motorcycle flies by, trucking through the red dirt roads (sometimes a silky quicksand, other times a rocky, uneven danger zone), the 95 degree sun beating on my neck, having to say hello to every person I pass--all while trying to keep my stride. Sometimes I spend the entire evening sipping terere as a way of cooling down and relaxing after a long day at school. Sometimes I read or study or write in my journal and my family and all my neighbors have to comment on how amazingly studious I am. Bahaha. Sometimes I share 1 or 2 hour conversations with random people which probably wouldn't be as long if I didn't have to ask them to repeat everything they say when an 18 wheeler passes through on the ruta. Never a dull moment in Paraguay...
6:15 P.M.
Regardless of how I pass my evenings, they always end the same way. Like clockwork when the sun hangs low in the west and begins to dip behind the palm trees, I cross the ruta and head up towards the house of my cousin. Once I come into view, I see the metal gate flung open and my three favorite boys begin sprinting down the dirt road. Pedro (4), Jojo (4), and Emilio (11). Beautiful smiling faces beaming towards me and in this moment, I am happy. They leap into my arms and we all crash into a group hug and "holas" and kisses go flying. Everyday it's the same. And everyday it makes my day.
We turn and head on to the cancha (field) behind their house, and we play volleyball and soccer with a flat ball that usually ends up looking more like a rag than anything. We sweat, we play, we laugh. And when the sun finally sets and the mosquitoes come out, we head back to their house and keep playing partido, soccer, in their yard by the light of the street lamp.
"Che nde lado!" (I'm on your team!) "Dale!" (C'mon!) "GOOOOOOOLLLLLLL!!!!" Emilio, the ridiculously good ball handler, screams as he runs around rubbing his lead in my face. Honestly sometimes he's even run to the spicket and gargles water while yelling gooooolllll! I always want to smack him. We usually play to 15, and Emi usually wins, and I usually find myself walking home feeling completely cleansed and content.
8:00 P.M.
I come home to find my family and a handful of stragglers sitting on our porch in front of the despensa (little store that we run out of our house) just watching the cars pass and the wind blow. I spend some time small-talking with them before making it inside for a late, light dinner, usually a grilled cheese or empanadas.
With a full stomach and a tired body, I drag myself to the shower and begin rinsing off the day. I always feel so surprised while at the same time relieved because despite whatever ups and downs I have endured through the day, I always feel happy when I lay down at night.
And always, when I look down at my feet, I see that I have once again failed to completely rinse off all of the red dirt from my ankles, my toes. It bleeds into my skin, and I realize that Paraguay has already become a part of me, and I realize that I will wake up tomorrow with feet that are a little bit redder, and a heart that is a little bit more committed to this life, to this place.
Saturday, February 13, 2010
the beginning.
I finished packing. I went out for one last hurrah. I said my goodbyes. I left North Carolina. I survived staging in Miami. It all came and went. And then...
2/10/10
Coming down on Paraguay, I was mesmerized by its beauty. Vibrant green. So green. Contrasted with the red dirt roads and red roofs... It was beautiful. With each step of this journey, everything has become more real and I found myself looking down on these hundreds of homes and lives thinking ¨where´s mine?¨Luckily I had more time to think about this seeing as our pilot overshot the landing... typical.
Driving towards the training center in Guarambare, looking out the window, I had flashbacks of other images I´ve had traveling. This induced a nostalgia turned excitement for this Latino world. A part of me just comes alive here...
2/11/10
After a short session at the training center came the moment we had all been waiting for: the assignment of our host families for training. I opened my envelope to find the names of my family typed: my host mom and dad, my 24 year old brother, my 20 year old sister, and my 12 year old sister. Then, written in pencil, I see: Alanis, 15 dias. I live with a precious 26 day old (as of today) baby girl.
Like Alanis, I am open-eyed, trying to take it all in. I am trying to figure out how to do things and trying to explore this new world I have entered. I don´t always know how to ask for what I want and sometimes I might get what I don´t need. People come by all day to look at me; some try to talk to me in a language that sounds like baby talk. I try to adjust to this heat and this life, and maybe sometimes I might cry and just want to be held. But, like Alanis, I know I will be ok because there are people who care about me. And I know now that I am a part of something much bigger than what I knew before. Living with my family has been wonderful; I enjoy sharing meals, drinking terere, and sweltering in the heat with them. Most of all, I am thankful that someone else is new here too.
2/12/10
It is so hot. So hot. I cannot begin to express how hot it is. It´s just so hot and humid that you can´t do anything. You can´t think, you can´t move, you can hardly talk. You just float into lethargic oblivion...
Today we were in a neighboring town listening to a presentation by the Peace Corps Country Director when I smelled it. Out of nowhere. And it took over the room: the musk of sweet rain. Faces lit up around the room. We could hardly listen anymore. Yet the presentation carried on. And about an hour later, we were released, and when we burst from the classrom, we realized: no lluvia. No rain. So where did that taunting smell come from??
A bit disheartened, we all headed towards our separate homes, and I went across the ruta for a game of volibol with my cousins. In the middle of the game, I saw it. Hazy blue streaks extending down in the east. It was coming.
We kept playing voli until finally - drip, drip, drop. I felt it. It got harder and harder, heavier and heavier. My sister and I ran across the street home, and I stopped and let it hit me. Finally, I felt clean; I felt cool. And in that moment, I found myself in the most beautiful view: the middle of the highway, sun setting in the west, rain in the east.
2/10/10
Coming down on Paraguay, I was mesmerized by its beauty. Vibrant green. So green. Contrasted with the red dirt roads and red roofs... It was beautiful. With each step of this journey, everything has become more real and I found myself looking down on these hundreds of homes and lives thinking ¨where´s mine?¨Luckily I had more time to think about this seeing as our pilot overshot the landing... typical.
Driving towards the training center in Guarambare, looking out the window, I had flashbacks of other images I´ve had traveling. This induced a nostalgia turned excitement for this Latino world. A part of me just comes alive here...
2/11/10
After a short session at the training center came the moment we had all been waiting for: the assignment of our host families for training. I opened my envelope to find the names of my family typed: my host mom and dad, my 24 year old brother, my 20 year old sister, and my 12 year old sister. Then, written in pencil, I see: Alanis, 15 dias. I live with a precious 26 day old (as of today) baby girl.
Like Alanis, I am open-eyed, trying to take it all in. I am trying to figure out how to do things and trying to explore this new world I have entered. I don´t always know how to ask for what I want and sometimes I might get what I don´t need. People come by all day to look at me; some try to talk to me in a language that sounds like baby talk. I try to adjust to this heat and this life, and maybe sometimes I might cry and just want to be held. But, like Alanis, I know I will be ok because there are people who care about me. And I know now that I am a part of something much bigger than what I knew before. Living with my family has been wonderful; I enjoy sharing meals, drinking terere, and sweltering in the heat with them. Most of all, I am thankful that someone else is new here too.
2/12/10
It is so hot. So hot. I cannot begin to express how hot it is. It´s just so hot and humid that you can´t do anything. You can´t think, you can´t move, you can hardly talk. You just float into lethargic oblivion...
Today we were in a neighboring town listening to a presentation by the Peace Corps Country Director when I smelled it. Out of nowhere. And it took over the room: the musk of sweet rain. Faces lit up around the room. We could hardly listen anymore. Yet the presentation carried on. And about an hour later, we were released, and when we burst from the classrom, we realized: no lluvia. No rain. So where did that taunting smell come from??
A bit disheartened, we all headed towards our separate homes, and I went across the ruta for a game of volibol with my cousins. In the middle of the game, I saw it. Hazy blue streaks extending down in the east. It was coming.
We kept playing voli until finally - drip, drip, drop. I felt it. It got harder and harder, heavier and heavier. My sister and I ran across the street home, and I stopped and let it hit me. Finally, I felt clean; I felt cool. And in that moment, I found myself in the most beautiful view: the middle of the highway, sun setting in the west, rain in the east.
Monday, February 8, 2010
I will miss...
...my sweet Shadow,
delicious Blue Cups,
the beautiful snow,
all things Carolina,
seeing the Avetts in concert,
but most of all, my most perfect friends and family. My heart is already aching in our separation.
love to all of you.
next time - from paraguayyy!
next time - from paraguayyy!
Monday, February 1, 2010
Thursday, January 21, 2010
You're invited!!!
WHO: Lizzie. Alias: Ole Vagabond Greer. Native of Boone, North Carolina. 2009 graduate of UNC (University of National Champions) with degrees in Elementary Education and Spanish. A lover of mountains, Starbucks, and Sex & the City.
WHAT: The United States Peace Corps. A government program dating back to 1961 that sends American volunteers to developing countries around the world. Its mission: to promote world peace and friendship. Its goals: 1) to work with the people of the country to meet the needs for sustainable development, 2) to create a more positive image of Americans abroad, 3) to create a more positive image of people of other countries in the US. Check ittt.
WHERE: I have been chosen to serve in the country of PARAGUAY! Paraguay is a small landlocked country in South America, bordering Argentina, Brazil, and Bolivia. A country often overlooked by tourists, Paraguay is deemed a 'hidden treasure' for its great environmental diversity and strong cultural heritage. The Rio Paraguay divides the country into a green, rolling terrain in the east and the western Chaco, a low plain of savannas, scrub forests, and marshes. The Guaraní Indians had occupied the eastern region of Paraguay for 1,000 years before the Spanish conquest, and for this reason, Paraguayans are very proud that their indigenous culture has remained to this day. While the official language is Spanish, Guaraní is the spoken language throughout the country. Yayyy for learning my 3rd language! Paraguay is also known for its music, social drink of tereré, and tranquilo lifestyle.
WHEN: February 8, 2010 - April 30, 2012. Looooooong timeeeee huh?? So this is the breakdown. On Feb 8th, I will be flying to Miami for Staging which is a brief orientation. I will be meeting up with the other Volunteers in my training group, and we will all be departing together for Paraguay the night of Feb 9th. Upon arriving in Paraguay, we will begin our 11 weeks of intense in-country training focusing on technical job orientation, language, health, safety, and personal/cultural adjustments. During training, the other trainees and I will be living with different families close to the training site of Guarambaré, about an hour outside of the capital of Asunción. At the end of our training (given that we all graduate training as prepared, informed, committed Volunteers -- fingers crossed!), we will be dispersed to our own individual sites throughout the country. This is where we will serve for 2 years!
WHY: While Paraguay hosts Volunteers in agriculture, business, health, and community development as well, I will be an education Volunteer. As in many poverty-stricken countries, Paraguay's educational system is struggling. Traditionally most teachers employ reading and lecturing as their primary teaching methods throughout grade levels. This non-engaging style does not always meet students' needs, and it is said that 24% of students drop out by 3rd grade, 44% by 6th. On top of that, it is estimated that at least 60% of children enter school speaking only Guaraní while most teaching is done in Spanish, and it is said that unequal gender expectations give boys an advantage in the classroom. The need for a participatory, bilingual as well as gender-neutral education is dire. That's where I come in!
My official assignment is to be an "Early Elementary Education Adviser." Basically I will be training teachers using observation, reflection, model teaching, and hosting workshops. In turn, together with the local teachers, we will hopefully make a difference in how students and community members value education and view their futures.
So now we know why Paraguay needs me... but why do I need it?? Feeling unsettled and devastated when contemplating my post-college life, I applied to Peace Corps on a whim. While I knew it would be hard to find a place that brought me the same magic and happiness as Chapel Hill, I saw PC as an incredible opportunity to delve deeper into understanding myself and the world that we live in. There is a lot on my to-do list for the next 2 years. To grow professionally, culturally, and personally. To touch the dreams of at least one child. To read a lot of books, listen to a lot of music, and talk a bunch of talks. To endure lots of awkward moments in response to my weird gringa habits. To rid myself of the side effects of living in a consumptive society. To learn how to take a bucket bath, hover over a hole in the ground, and maybeee build my own house. To remind myself how to slow down and savor the present. To avoid crossing paths with any large snakes. Well, actually, any snakes. To feel connections in yet another corner of the world and strengthen my belief in the heart, the energy of humanity. To travel to Brazil, Uruguay, Patagonia, Bolivia, Chile, Peru, etc. etc. To live.
Through this blog, I will explore my experiences, emotions, developments, and beautiful moments of my life in Peace Corps Paraguay. Let me warn you: brevity is not my forte. So if you can endure the long posts, I invite you to read and grow with me. On the words of Albus Dumbledore: "And now, [Lizzie] , let us step out into the night and pursue that flighty temptress, adventure."
WHAT: The United States Peace Corps. A government program dating back to 1961 that sends American volunteers to developing countries around the world. Its mission: to promote world peace and friendship. Its goals: 1) to work with the people of the country to meet the needs for sustainable development, 2) to create a more positive image of Americans abroad, 3) to create a more positive image of people of other countries in the US. Check ittt.
WHERE: I have been chosen to serve in the country of PARAGUAY! Paraguay is a small landlocked country in South America, bordering Argentina, Brazil, and Bolivia. A country often overlooked by tourists, Paraguay is deemed a 'hidden treasure' for its great environmental diversity and strong cultural heritage. The Rio Paraguay divides the country into a green, rolling terrain in the east and the western Chaco, a low plain of savannas, scrub forests, and marshes. The Guaraní Indians had occupied the eastern region of Paraguay for 1,000 years before the Spanish conquest, and for this reason, Paraguayans are very proud that their indigenous culture has remained to this day. While the official language is Spanish, Guaraní is the spoken language throughout the country. Yayyy for learning my 3rd language! Paraguay is also known for its music, social drink of tereré, and tranquilo lifestyle.
WHEN: February 8, 2010 - April 30, 2012. Looooooong timeeeee huh?? So this is the breakdown. On Feb 8th, I will be flying to Miami for Staging which is a brief orientation. I will be meeting up with the other Volunteers in my training group, and we will all be departing together for Paraguay the night of Feb 9th. Upon arriving in Paraguay, we will begin our 11 weeks of intense in-country training focusing on technical job orientation, language, health, safety, and personal/cultural adjustments. During training, the other trainees and I will be living with different families close to the training site of Guarambaré, about an hour outside of the capital of Asunción. At the end of our training (given that we all graduate training as prepared, informed, committed Volunteers -- fingers crossed!), we will be dispersed to our own individual sites throughout the country. This is where we will serve for 2 years!
WHY: While Paraguay hosts Volunteers in agriculture, business, health, and community development as well, I will be an education Volunteer. As in many poverty-stricken countries, Paraguay's educational system is struggling. Traditionally most teachers employ reading and lecturing as their primary teaching methods throughout grade levels. This non-engaging style does not always meet students' needs, and it is said that 24% of students drop out by 3rd grade, 44% by 6th. On top of that, it is estimated that at least 60% of children enter school speaking only Guaraní while most teaching is done in Spanish, and it is said that unequal gender expectations give boys an advantage in the classroom. The need for a participatory, bilingual as well as gender-neutral education is dire. That's where I come in!
My official assignment is to be an "Early Elementary Education Adviser." Basically I will be training teachers using observation, reflection, model teaching, and hosting workshops. In turn, together with the local teachers, we will hopefully make a difference in how students and community members value education and view their futures.
So now we know why Paraguay needs me... but why do I need it?? Feeling unsettled and devastated when contemplating my post-college life, I applied to Peace Corps on a whim. While I knew it would be hard to find a place that brought me the same magic and happiness as Chapel Hill, I saw PC as an incredible opportunity to delve deeper into understanding myself and the world that we live in. There is a lot on my to-do list for the next 2 years. To grow professionally, culturally, and personally. To touch the dreams of at least one child. To read a lot of books, listen to a lot of music, and talk a bunch of talks. To endure lots of awkward moments in response to my weird gringa habits. To rid myself of the side effects of living in a consumptive society. To learn how to take a bucket bath, hover over a hole in the ground, and maybeee build my own house. To remind myself how to slow down and savor the present. To avoid crossing paths with any large snakes. Well, actually, any snakes. To feel connections in yet another corner of the world and strengthen my belief in the heart, the energy of humanity. To travel to Brazil, Uruguay, Patagonia, Bolivia, Chile, Peru, etc. etc. To live.
Through this blog, I will explore my experiences, emotions, developments, and beautiful moments of my life in Peace Corps Paraguay. Let me warn you: brevity is not my forte. So if you can endure the long posts, I invite you to read and grow with me. On the words of Albus Dumbledore: "And now, [Lizzie] , let us step out into the night and pursue that flighty temptress, adventure."
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