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.
