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.

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.

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

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.

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??

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.

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.