As Peace Corps Volunteers, we are forced to adapt to many things that are very different from our former reality. The weather, the food, the language, the culture, the bugs, the beds, the "social life". Physically, mentally, emotionally, our bodies are challenged to react and survive in circumstances that are very new to us, some being extremely difficult. But in an effort to fully integrate and not offend, we are encouraged to take whatever comes at us with grace, acceptance, and... silence. What doesn't kill us only makes us stronger right?
Actually I'd like to say wrong to that. After being in Paraguay for over a year, enduring many hardships and overcoming many challenges, I'm starting to notice that there is a line between conditions that we should accept and those that we should not. And I am not talking as a Peace Corps "we", but as a collective whole, Paraguayans included. Too many times I hear people justifying things as "just part of the culture" or "that's just the way it is."
Yes, some of the things that have been difficult for me are just the Paraguayan way. For example, the unbearably loud music or the roosters' crows sometimes are bothersome for my ears. And I don't particularly enjoy waking up at 4:30 am to drink mate for 2 hours before starting my day, but if you do, that's fine with me. And the fashion magazines I read don't necessarily condone wet hair, sequins, glittery flower hair clips, or unbelievably tight clothes, but it all looks great on you. And you know what, since I'm the one visiting your country, I'll even wear it too! All of these are examples of what I call adapting to a culture without question.
But there are lots of things that should not be written off as cultural differences because they are just as difficult or unenjoyable for Paraguayans as they are for us as Americans.
For example: buses. The bus companies, particularly the one that goes to my site, are on my list right now. I have been traveling a lot recently to and from Asuncion (shall I remind you, a 9 hour ride) and have been completely disgusted by the quality of service. (To the point that last week I had the ultimate breakdown, crying and hyperventilating in the bathroom of a bus station at 4 am.) A majority of the buses in Paraguay are recycled from Brazil and Argentina's trash meaning dirty, gross, and uncomfortable. No air/heat, broken seats that don't recline, break down regularly. As if the bus experience wasn't pleasant enough, there also is no such thing as a full bus, seeing as companies sell tickets and drivers pick up people over the capacity leaving them to stand scrunched together in the aisle, leaning on the seats. As my friend Miguel said after taking a midnight bus to his site and standing the entire 6 hours, it's like transporting cattle!! It's dehumanizing! As much as I try to protest and avoid supporting the terrible bus company that goes to my site, the unfortunate thing is that there is no other option and for that reason, they don't care. They don't have to.
As hard as it is to fight against institutions such as bus companies, luckily Paraguay is up and coming, and at some point, they will have to update their standards. Hopefully the same can be said for certain aspects of their culture that are subtly dehumanizing as well. As a country very young in democracy, there is a terrible lack of self-esteem and individualism in this country, and this problem is only further promoted by the ways in which people talk and treat each other. It is very common for someone to pick apart another person's appearance, from clothes to hair to skin to body. Unfortunately PCVs are not exempt from this. Actually we might even be more of a target! Comments I have received: "your clothes look like a grandmother's", "your hands are too small", "your hair looks like a broom that was used to clean a dirty corner", and countless other comments on my clothes, my dirty feet/shoes, and my weight. That's the favorite: people looove to comment on others' weight saying to their faces "estas muy gorda ahora" "you're really fat now". I used to get so confused because one day they'd tell me I'm chubby, the next I'm skinny, the next I'm too skinny and so on and so on. But regardless of what it is that they're saying to me, it always hurts. It does not feel good. And I'm a comfortable, confident, even hermosa woman! Lots of other Volunteers have tried to say "it's just their culture" but after talking with my Paraguayan friends, the truth is it hurts them too. So why should we continue allowing this vicious cycle to perpetuate, destroying even more people's self-image and life possibilities?
Even sadder is the explicit physical and emotional abuse that people endure, justifying it as part of the culture. Men beating their wives, the commonness of infidelity in marriages, children having to walk around selling oranges to buy their dad his daily pint of caña. These things should not be accepted in any culture, and every time that they are swept under the mat as "the way it is", it gives them power and allows them to continue.
As Peace Corps Volunteers, we are charged with the job of empowering people to take control of their suffering and make changes in their lives for the better. But if we shrug things off and continue to allow subpar conditions to be recognized as cultural and therefore acceptable, we are failing to do our job. We can't turn the entire country around in 2 years, but I personally am going to make it known to whoever I can find the things that I refuse to adapt to. And hopefully, in my broken Spanish, I will be giving a voice to the same shared feelings of the Paraguayans.
Sunday, April 17, 2011
Sunday, April 10, 2011
A Veteran Volunteer
Peace Corps Paraguay has a rotating schedule of Volunteer groups. When a group arrives from one sector, they have a sister group at their 1 year mark, and another sister group that is finishing their service and returning to the United States. The new Education group arrived at the beginning of February, marking my 1 year anniversary in Paraguay. In honor of my "cumple-año", I baked a chocolate cake and took it around to the families I lived with and the people I worked with in my first year. I gave each person a piece of cake, a kiss, and a gracias for being a special part of my first year. As expected, I found myself reflecting on the past year, painfully remembering the hard parts such as breaking my arm and cheers-ing the successes such as my Swearing-In Ceremony at the Embassy. Of course there have been hilarious experiences, for example, when I unknowingly agreed in Guarani to marry this ancient as time, toothless security guard at the Municipalidad. The most frustrating times always involved work or the teachers like the 3 month teacher strike that took place right after arriving in site or the daily disappointment I feel when I enter in a classroom and see that the teacher still is not using the technique I taught. When I think of happiness, I see myself in different settings - drinking terere with Paraguayans, laughing uncontrollably with Erik, having 40 sets of eyes on me in a literacy workshop, or laying down comfortably in my bed each night. As always, when recalling the best moments, I cannot remember the day or the time, not one detail. Only a feeling. The feeling of overflowing energy, a bubbling contentness and a stark appreciation for la vida.
That being said, I have become very aware of why Peace Corps is a 2 year commitment. When I look back on my first year, it seemed to be all about adapting. First the basics of immersing in the culture, meeting people, exploring my community. Later on it became deciphering: how institutions function, which teachers are willing to work with me, who is actually my friend and someone I can trust. Now as I come around the bend of my second year, I feel a settling peace, a different angle with which I'm approaching everything. In general, I feel more comfortable and more in control of my daily life, allowing me to be free of distractions and more focused. Professionally I have a clearer, more realistic directive and have laid the groundwork for lots of hopeful projects. Now it's just time to get to work! As one of my fellow Volunteers said, if I went home now, I don't feel I would be able to say that I accomplished anything. In this next year, I hope to work efficiently and effectively and achieve some kind of development for my community.
At the end of February, I hosted a visit from one of the new Trainees. Coincidently, Johanna, the Trainee, is a good friend of my sister's from Study Abroad in Argentina 4 years ago! (It is a verrrry small world.) I had a great few days with Johanna, getting to know her and now having another good friend here within Paraguay. It also was a prideful experience, being able to show off my community, my friends, my house, my work. It made me aware of how far I have come, how normal some things have become to me and how I have molded myself and everything around me to mesh. I remember during training, 27 months seemed so big, so long and I just wanted to make a dent in it. Now here I am at my halfway point, and I feel like time is escaping from underneath me. I only have another year to finish my projects and actually achieve my goal of improving the health, education, and knowledge of my community.
I also realize, aside from work, I only have another year to enjoy this experience, marvel at beautiful Paraguay, and the most heartbreaking - spend time with the people whom I care about. Towards the end of March, I received another visit from a fellow Volunteer. Amanda is also a Education volunteer and is in the sister group that is on their way out. She was a Volunteer in my site for her first year and then moved to a different site for her 2nd year so I was chosen to replace her. She is on the brink of finishing her service and is returning to the States on the 20th of April so she came down before she went to say goodbye to our community. We spent the entire weekend visiting different families, taking long walks around town, and taking pictures. There was an air of sadness and nostalgia as we toured around, and it made me imagine the day when we do leave and the mix of emotions that will overwhelm us. To spend 2 years day in and out tucked into the pocket of South America, in polarizing Paraguay, a place with which you either fall in love or get fed up, to be a professional and an individual, mixed up in the turmoil of thoughts, emotions, responsibilities, challenges yet all the while learning and changing and growing... And for there to finally come the day when it all ends? What will that be like? What will going back be like?
Regardless of whether or not you could sum up your experience as a positive or negative one or your work as a success or a failure, I think one thing is always guaranteed for us as Volunteers. There will always be people, a family, a child, a sweet old lady, who will steal your heart, and that will always be painful to leave behind. We spent Amanda's last night sitting in front of the Ortega-Torres home, a family that is very dear to both of us. There were laughs. There were beers. There was even a soccer jersey ceremony, where Amanda was presented with the gift of a sacred Olimpia jersey signed by all members of the family. And in the end, there were tears.
Goodbyes are always hard, but these goodbyes are different. They're harder. Of course, for one, you're going to miss them. And sometimes you don't know if you'll ever see them again. But a lot of the times, it's because there are not enough words to express how much they mean to you. To express your gratitude for their food, for their advice, for being able to trust them. For taking you in as if you were one of their own. There are never enough words to tell them how much you love them and how you will always carry them with you for the rest of your life. And these goodbyes are harder too because you also know they don't have the words either to say the same thing.
That being said, I have become very aware of why Peace Corps is a 2 year commitment. When I look back on my first year, it seemed to be all about adapting. First the basics of immersing in the culture, meeting people, exploring my community. Later on it became deciphering: how institutions function, which teachers are willing to work with me, who is actually my friend and someone I can trust. Now as I come around the bend of my second year, I feel a settling peace, a different angle with which I'm approaching everything. In general, I feel more comfortable and more in control of my daily life, allowing me to be free of distractions and more focused. Professionally I have a clearer, more realistic directive and have laid the groundwork for lots of hopeful projects. Now it's just time to get to work! As one of my fellow Volunteers said, if I went home now, I don't feel I would be able to say that I accomplished anything. In this next year, I hope to work efficiently and effectively and achieve some kind of development for my community.
At the end of February, I hosted a visit from one of the new Trainees. Coincidently, Johanna, the Trainee, is a good friend of my sister's from Study Abroad in Argentina 4 years ago! (It is a verrrry small world.) I had a great few days with Johanna, getting to know her and now having another good friend here within Paraguay. It also was a prideful experience, being able to show off my community, my friends, my house, my work. It made me aware of how far I have come, how normal some things have become to me and how I have molded myself and everything around me to mesh. I remember during training, 27 months seemed so big, so long and I just wanted to make a dent in it. Now here I am at my halfway point, and I feel like time is escaping from underneath me. I only have another year to finish my projects and actually achieve my goal of improving the health, education, and knowledge of my community.
I also realize, aside from work, I only have another year to enjoy this experience, marvel at beautiful Paraguay, and the most heartbreaking - spend time with the people whom I care about. Towards the end of March, I received another visit from a fellow Volunteer. Amanda is also a Education volunteer and is in the sister group that is on their way out. She was a Volunteer in my site for her first year and then moved to a different site for her 2nd year so I was chosen to replace her. She is on the brink of finishing her service and is returning to the States on the 20th of April so she came down before she went to say goodbye to our community. We spent the entire weekend visiting different families, taking long walks around town, and taking pictures. There was an air of sadness and nostalgia as we toured around, and it made me imagine the day when we do leave and the mix of emotions that will overwhelm us. To spend 2 years day in and out tucked into the pocket of South America, in polarizing Paraguay, a place with which you either fall in love or get fed up, to be a professional and an individual, mixed up in the turmoil of thoughts, emotions, responsibilities, challenges yet all the while learning and changing and growing... And for there to finally come the day when it all ends? What will that be like? What will going back be like?
Regardless of whether or not you could sum up your experience as a positive or negative one or your work as a success or a failure, I think one thing is always guaranteed for us as Volunteers. There will always be people, a family, a child, a sweet old lady, who will steal your heart, and that will always be painful to leave behind. We spent Amanda's last night sitting in front of the Ortega-Torres home, a family that is very dear to both of us. There were laughs. There were beers. There was even a soccer jersey ceremony, where Amanda was presented with the gift of a sacred Olimpia jersey signed by all members of the family. And in the end, there were tears.
Goodbyes are always hard, but these goodbyes are different. They're harder. Of course, for one, you're going to miss them. And sometimes you don't know if you'll ever see them again. But a lot of the times, it's because there are not enough words to express how much they mean to you. To express your gratitude for their food, for their advice, for being able to trust them. For taking you in as if you were one of their own. There are never enough words to tell them how much you love them and how you will always carry them with you for the rest of your life. And these goodbyes are harder too because you also know they don't have the words either to say the same thing.
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
so long sweet summer.
During the month of November, many days my only comfort was thinking, "just make it to December." Between workshops, meetings, certificates, graduations, end of the year activities, I found myself working from 7 in the morning to 10 at night. I had overbooked my schedule in a country where efficiency is not a priority and walking distances are never short. Che kane'oiterei... I was tiiired. All I wanted was to rest.
And then finally, December came. Beautiful, tranquilo, HOT. Aside from Art Camp 2K10 which I put on for a week with Erik for his students in Yatytay, my only goals for the month of December were to relax, read, and spend time with people. In November, as I ran from place to place, I hardly had time to talk to my neighbors, play with the kids, or even drink terere! Now that, in Paraguay, is inexcusable. So in December, my days were left open. I could sleep as late as I wanted and wake up with my only plans being to wander and be free. Life was good.
December flew and soon arrived Christmas and New Year's. Lots of houses put up Christmas lights and artificial trees. Everywhere you looked, there was red and green, but unlike in the US, the Christmas colors here came from sandia, watermelon. December and January is watermelon season, and in every household, it is common to see people sitting outside with a half of a watermelon in their laps, eating it with a spoon. I quickly adapted to this custom and spent many days after lunch scooping out juicy sandia as my dessert. Paraguayans celebrate Christmas and New Year's at midnight and both in the same manner. Starting on Christmas and New Year's Eve, everyone cooks a huge asado feast and around 9 or 10, the family eats dinner altogether. Then cold Brahma beers are passed around until the clock strikes 12 when everybody shoots off fireworks, cheers to a sweet champagne, and gives hugs and kisses all around. I spent both holidays with my host family, and both nights, we headed over to Ceferina's sister's house where the whole family came together to hug, kiss, cry, dance, and drink more beer. Both holidays were very calm (and slightly boring) as compared to the big to-dos that we have in the States, but surprisingly enough, I never had an emotional breakdown, an overwhelming homesickness, as I had expected. Christmas morning I handed out the presents I had bought to my host family, their 1st ever Christmas presents, and they loved them. Ceferina even cried. I video Skyped with my family, and as they went around opening their presents, I also opened my presents from the Christmas package that my mom had sent me. I was thrilled to unwrap Ziploc bags and Clorox wipes, Sharpies and a French press. I honestly had a great Christmas, and I felt very blessed for all of the wonderful people and places in my life.
In January, opa la vacacion; my vacation was over. I went back to work, giving a summer school course with the principal of my school for children who didn't pass the grade. Out of 380 students, 76 didn't pass, 47 of the 76 being in 1st, 2nd, and 3rd grade. I taught literacy, 3 courses a day, and the principal taught math. I thought this would be an easy and effective way for me to help the students and at the same time, validate to the teachers that my ideas and strategies work. In reality, it was quite the opposite. Instead of feeling like I had success with the students, I really ended up feeling very frustrated and hopeless. Instead of producing students who could miraculously read and write, I diagnosed the students as having very low basic skills, a lack of imagination, and inability to work independently and think for themselves. It was very depressing and still, until now, leaves me questioning my ability to have an impact, to make a real difference here.
But, if I wasn't a dreamer, I would have never signed up for the Peace Corps. The other day, I came across this quote. "You have the right to work, but for the work's sake only. You have no rights to the fruits of work. Desire for the fruits of work must never be your motive in working. Never give way to laziness, either... Work done with anxiety about results is far inferior to work done without such anxiety, in the calm of self-surrender... They who work selfishly for results are miserable."
I see it as, I can't only work or try things with the end product in mind because I might always end up disappointed. I have to approach this situation from all different angles, keep trying different ideas and strategies hoping that maybe one of them will pull through. School has now started, and I have become very aware that I only have one more year here. Instead of letting myself get down, I am committed to making the most of it, for myself and my Paraguay.
And then finally, December came. Beautiful, tranquilo, HOT. Aside from Art Camp 2K10 which I put on for a week with Erik for his students in Yatytay, my only goals for the month of December were to relax, read, and spend time with people. In November, as I ran from place to place, I hardly had time to talk to my neighbors, play with the kids, or even drink terere! Now that, in Paraguay, is inexcusable. So in December, my days were left open. I could sleep as late as I wanted and wake up with my only plans being to wander and be free. Life was good.
December flew and soon arrived Christmas and New Year's. Lots of houses put up Christmas lights and artificial trees. Everywhere you looked, there was red and green, but unlike in the US, the Christmas colors here came from sandia, watermelon. December and January is watermelon season, and in every household, it is common to see people sitting outside with a half of a watermelon in their laps, eating it with a spoon. I quickly adapted to this custom and spent many days after lunch scooping out juicy sandia as my dessert. Paraguayans celebrate Christmas and New Year's at midnight and both in the same manner. Starting on Christmas and New Year's Eve, everyone cooks a huge asado feast and around 9 or 10, the family eats dinner altogether. Then cold Brahma beers are passed around until the clock strikes 12 when everybody shoots off fireworks, cheers to a sweet champagne, and gives hugs and kisses all around. I spent both holidays with my host family, and both nights, we headed over to Ceferina's sister's house where the whole family came together to hug, kiss, cry, dance, and drink more beer. Both holidays were very calm (and slightly boring) as compared to the big to-dos that we have in the States, but surprisingly enough, I never had an emotional breakdown, an overwhelming homesickness, as I had expected. Christmas morning I handed out the presents I had bought to my host family, their 1st ever Christmas presents, and they loved them. Ceferina even cried. I video Skyped with my family, and as they went around opening their presents, I also opened my presents from the Christmas package that my mom had sent me. I was thrilled to unwrap Ziploc bags and Clorox wipes, Sharpies and a French press. I honestly had a great Christmas, and I felt very blessed for all of the wonderful people and places in my life.
In January, opa la vacacion; my vacation was over. I went back to work, giving a summer school course with the principal of my school for children who didn't pass the grade. Out of 380 students, 76 didn't pass, 47 of the 76 being in 1st, 2nd, and 3rd grade. I taught literacy, 3 courses a day, and the principal taught math. I thought this would be an easy and effective way for me to help the students and at the same time, validate to the teachers that my ideas and strategies work. In reality, it was quite the opposite. Instead of feeling like I had success with the students, I really ended up feeling very frustrated and hopeless. Instead of producing students who could miraculously read and write, I diagnosed the students as having very low basic skills, a lack of imagination, and inability to work independently and think for themselves. It was very depressing and still, until now, leaves me questioning my ability to have an impact, to make a real difference here.
But, if I wasn't a dreamer, I would have never signed up for the Peace Corps. The other day, I came across this quote. "You have the right to work, but for the work's sake only. You have no rights to the fruits of work. Desire for the fruits of work must never be your motive in working. Never give way to laziness, either... Work done with anxiety about results is far inferior to work done without such anxiety, in the calm of self-surrender... They who work selfishly for results are miserable."
I see it as, I can't only work or try things with the end product in mind because I might always end up disappointed. I have to approach this situation from all different angles, keep trying different ideas and strategies hoping that maybe one of them will pull through. School has now started, and I have become very aware that I only have one more year here. Instead of letting myself get down, I am committed to making the most of it, for myself and my Paraguay.
Thursday, December 23, 2010
Comments on Christmas in Paraguay
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.
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 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
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