Machucando Mitos, Asignaciones del Sitio y Cuellos del Pollo... Literalmente ::: Crushing Myths, Site Assignments, and Chicken Necks...Literally

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

DO NOT READ OR LOOK PASSED THE LAST TWO PARAGRAPHS IF YOU DO NOT WANT TO READ ABOUT OR SEE CHICKEN DEATH.

DO READ THE LAST TWO PARAGRAPHS AND LOOK AT THE PHOTOS IF YOU WANT TO LEARN ABOUT THE PROCESS OF KILLING AND PREPARING A CHICKEN FOR CONSUMPTION...I'm glad I now know how it's done in most of the world.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The toothless spaces move about in front of my eyes. I'm fixated on the gaps where there should be blocks of white enamel. My mom threw them on the roof, she tells me. Why? For the rat. I had been talking to one of my nieces, this one is 7-years-old and is missing many teeth. It was only at the beginning of this conversation when I realized that the tooth fairy probably only works in the States and I therefore asked my niece where her teeth had gone. In Paraguay, the children are not visited by fairies or given money; they are much more selfless here. The children, or rather their mothers, “give” baby teeth to the rats by throwing them on the roofs of their houses. This way, the rats are able to put them in their mouths when they pass them by during a nightly stroll, and of course ultimately are able to acquire new teeth.

The mythology of Paraguay is extensive and it reminds me how young my Norte country is comparatively. One of my favorites is the Bombero, who hides in the woods and when he whistles at you, you must give him alcohol and cigars or there will be consequences. The Kurupi has a penis that wraps around his waste three times and when he sees a woman he likes, he lassos his prehensile member around her. I'm sure that there are a lot more details to these myths and when I soon go to the campo I will learn more about the creatures that lurch around this landlocked country.

Time is passing quickly and in less than a week I will find myself in a new campo (countryside) home. Everything will be new and I will find myself a member of many new families. But at this moment I'm not ready to leave Guarambare. I love my host mom and my host nieces and nephews. I don't wanna leave! I say as I stomp my foot and cross my arms. My mother and I have been spending a lot of time together lately, and we've both shed tears in front of the other and in private. One of most memorable moments of our past few days is the particularly unique experience we just shared: my first chicken adventure!

Having no prior experience handling chickens, it began with the odds forever not in my favor. Maria threw me into the gallenero (chicken coop) with little more instruction than I think you grab them around their wings. Only five chickens remained from the 20 my agricultural tech group started with; the rest had already been given to other host families and the language teachers. We raised them from chicks and in the two-months that they lived in our training site they grew quite immensely. In this moment though, chickens squawked and feathers thustled as I chased the last survivors like my own head was cut off. I had one cornered. I faked him out to the left, to the right, and finally he was mine. The poor thing traveled with me from one town to the next in the very bag that first held his food – now it held mine. As I neared my house after the mile walk home, my mother arose from the patio chair. Usually I am greeted by kisses and questions, but on this day there was no greeting. With a smile extending from ear to ear she grabbed the bag and walked to the outdoor kitchen. Soon I found the 3 kilo meal dangling by its feet from my mother's grasp. Let me take a picture! I exclaimed to my mom. My camera snapped the shot – and continued to shoot the unsuspected events that transpired over the next 10 seconds. My mother was wringing the neck of the ryguasu (chicken in Guarani) and by the end of this short time span the young gallero was dead. Two days later he supplied my entire household of 10+ people with a delectable meal.

I've posted the photos documenting this process below. The other photos feature the day our permanent site assignments were revealed and a few shots of Thanksgiving at the US Embassadors house. Coming up this week: Moving out of Guarambare, being sworn in as an official PC volunteer (PCV), and moving into my new home in Itapua!!!

My cultural excursion group spending the morning of Site Assignment Day exploring some of the culture in PY.

We are on top of one of the tallest hills in our area. We found this rock mound with stairs and a large cross.

We visited one of the local districts that is famous for making hammocks. This women is using all four of her limbs to work the loom.

Some trainees approaching the famous church Temple de SanBuen Aventura in Yaguaron. 

It is quite spectacular.

After lunch, the Director of Training delivered some last minute words before the Ag and 

Environment teams passed out our site folders. The empty map of Paraguay stands behind her.

The final assignments of the G-mates.

Thanks!

Taking a refined internet break in the US Ambassador's library.

 The ambassador and his wife welcoming us to the Thanksgiving feast. I didn't get to take a picture of the food, but I took some turkey home to my family and my mom had turkey for the first time!

 My mama.

Step 1: Wring the neck of the chicken when your host daughter least expects it.

Step 2: Boil the chicken for about 1 minute. 

Step 3: Pluck off the feathers.

 Step 3.5: Wash the chicken and pluck and tiny feathers that escaped prior removal.

Step 4: Cut off the feet.

Step 5: Remove the organs and the esophagus of the chicken.

Step 6: Your chicken is ready! Here's my little nephew learning about the process too!

Step 7: Feed the feet to Ringo.

Machucando...nada ::: Crushing...nothing

Words fail to leave my fingertips. I'm in a rut, a funk, a period of lassitude. During a training session who knows how long ago, our Master Trainer showed us a line graph representing the satisfaction levels of trainees and volunteers. According to this document, trainees peak-and-valley between happiness and dissatisfaction frequently in the 10-week period. Although I wish I could say that I am exceptional and have managed to stay positive at this 7^th-week mark, I'm feeling quite low. Despite sharing this experience with my partner, I feel lonely. Despite having thus far lived a fulfilling and rich life, I feel envious of others. Lately, I've constantly felt sick, which I attribute to the constant effluvia from burning garbage and the incense that deter mosquitoes from further destroying my feet. Presently, I can't stop scratching the mosquito bites spread around my body and my bee sting is on fire. And for the record, there are too many damn big cockroaches in my room. While sitting in bed this Sunday morning, I anxiously await for my host mother to come wake me up and check-in on me – which reminds me that regardless of my age or life experience I currently have to answer to her; I do not have the pleasure of autonomy or solitude. This morning is rare in the fact that Jason has slept over at a friend's house at his training site. It is a unique moment to have this small space to myself, a concept I took for granted in the States. I don't have to talk to anyone this morning and I'm relishing every moment.

I can't say that I have a particularly good reason to feel this way. This week, especially the last few days, have been fruitful with new knowledge and experiences. Melanie, a third-year volunteer and our Peace Corps Volunteer Coordinator (PCVC), has been an invaluable asset during training and she imparted some of her most priceless knowledge with us this weekend. During one session she outlined the work she had done in her site. Organizing and empowering a women's group, and ultimately getting them recognized by the government is a daunting task. Melanie's belief that the work should come from the women is impressive, and more impressive still is her dedication to this belief, no matter how hard it may have been to allow/work through mistakes, to take no easy routes, or to sit in the shadows. I sat mesmerized while Melanie explained the tedious details of her project, which ultimately produced 11 modern bathrooms for the women of her community. Outright it may seem strange from the perspective of an American, but now these 11 families do not have to use the unprotected latrines that were placed close to their homes, which attracted flies and were nearly filled. It was both empowering and nerve wrecking to hear about the work of Melanie and her women's comite...I hope I'm just as guapa at my site. Later, Melanie led us in a charla on bees. After three attempts our time had finally come. We suited up and went to the bee boxes. How amazing. Even though four bees had found their way into my gear and I was stung once, I loved it. I can't wait to work with bees further, develop those skills, and ultimately lose my fear of getting stung.

Getting suited up!

Mike and Adam are ready!

Caddie and Zach are preparing the smokers. 

Maria standing by ready to smoke some bees.

The group getting ready to open one of the bee boxes.

 Zach and Melanie are explaining to the group what we are seeing in the comb.

A close-up. The cells that are "capped" hold baby worker bees. 

Melanie showing a different style of bee box and how the laying pattern of this hive is not ideal. They later transferred new baby hive cells from another hive to this one. 

You can see two different types of capped cells here - the whitish capped cells hold honey and the yellow ones on the bottom hold baby drones!

Me checking out a comb. Melanie's bare hand is featured here holding a bee ball. 

 David helping Braden harvest yummy honey!

YUM!

Ben checking out a comb placed in a display case. The bees can be separated from the hive for short period of time. 

  

Machucando Práctica de Campo Largo ::: Crushing Long Field Practice

I sit in refuge from the springtime heat under two mango trees. My 7-year-old host sister swings to-and-fro in front of me on a rainbow hammock. Her eyes are locked onto my face during each swing. There is a nice breeze within the protection of the sombra, or shade, but under the north sun the air is hot. I can't begin to imagine what the summer months will be like. Summer is coming, I've heard the volunteers joke. But in all seriousness I believe that they are trying to prepare us. Apparently it will soon be relentlessly hot. I have only lived with this host family for two days now. I like them a lot and I hope that they like me too. This family speaks mostly Guarani, but they know some Spanish words. At times I am able to fully convey my point. My mother exclaims with glee to my host father about how well I speak Guarani. However, for the majority of the time I fail and they look at me with expressionless faces and confused eyes. Have I insulted them? Have I caused an international incident? I wonder what my site will be like. Will my new community mostly speak Guarani or will they speak Jopara like my family in Guarambare?

For half of the week, four of us PCTs visit current PCV Andrew in the Department of San Pedro. This trip is known as Long Field Practice, or LFP (the PC loves its acronyms). We traveled 3-hours by car with our Agriculture Tech Trainer and one of the Guarani language teachers. After being violently jostled by dirt roads for 15-minutes, we pass the house of a mustached young man and his dog. There he is! We shout. Andrew serves as an Agricultural Extensionist in his community and has lived there for almost one year. After a brief tour of his house, we are dropped off at the homes of our temporary host families. There are five structures spread throughout the property of my new home. Two main dwelling spaces constructed of painted blue wooden slats sit separated by two large mango trees. Another small wooden structure houses the oven and next to it a concrete bathroom. By the other building sits an outhouse. 26 cows, eight pigs, four guinea hens, one dog, and an astronomical amount of chickens share the living space. All roam freely, except for las vakas. My mom tells me that she takes care of all of the animals, which includes the task of milking four cows every morning.

I have four new siblings. The two oldest help with chores and I am particularly impressed with the oldest girl, who is fifteen. She helps me as often as my actual host-mother, preparing some of my meals, setting up the shower, and greeting me when I come home at night. From her I learn that she wants to be a teacher and is quite smart. She is patient with me and my deplorable Guarani, a trait shared by all of her family members. One night, when we are both sitting in our beds she points to the picture of her grandmother, the one sitting on the shrine that separates our beds. She is here, I'm certain she tells me. My grandmother is here, she repeats. I tell her that my grandmother had also passed and I show her the picture in my locket. I can see by the expression in her face that we are both bonded by the love for our grandmothers and the grief that one goes through when they loose someone close. What next occurs is a blur, as most of my experiences are when I am confounded by the situation. I think my sister asks me something about my grandmother's death, an inference I gather from my sister closing and pointing to her eyes, pointing to the ground, and pointing to her whole body. We go back and forth between Guarani and Spanish, but I cannot answer what she asks. Lost, I ask my tech trainer, Zarina, to interpret the events from the night before. She suspects that my sister's questioning may have been related some Paraguayans concern over burial, but overall Zari cannot be sure about my sister's actions.

My time with Andrew was as lovely as that with my host family. We filled our days with agricultural tech work, like building a bee box and learning about solar ovens. We also helped Andrew's neighbor hoe part of his field and plant green manures, plants that help improve the condition of the soil. One of the greatest experiences for me, though, was participating in one of the meetings from a local fishing comite. Andrew had asked us to prepare a charla on biointesive gardens to be presented to the group in Guarani. Of course delivering the charla was rewarding, but I was most honored to witness Zarina read the official letter to the group recognizing them as an actual Paraguayan comite. I learn that this acknowledgment gives them certain powers, like the opportunity to apply for grants.

Being in San Pedro increases the anxiety in my bones; I cannot wait to find out my permanent site in Paraguay. Whispers of speculation from current volunteers pass by my ears. I wonder if Jason and I will be taking over the site of current married couples or if we will be placed in community presently nameless. I just have to trust that time will pass quickly and that in two weeks' time Jason and I will know the location of our new home in Paraguay.

Andrew sharpening the saw to prepare for making the bee box. 

The four PCTs. My bestee is the one sawin' away.

Mike hammering the sawed pieces together.

Sean and Andrew hammering the final pieces into place. 

Loose pieces are placed within the box. Andrew is demonstrating with a piece from another hive. The bees build off of these pieces and the honey can be easily harvested.

The final product: A bee box!

The radio tower owned and operated by his neighbor.

The three guys greet the community in Guarani!

All of us in front of the radio station/house.

Ben and Zari petting a baby goat. I want one sooooon!

Making cups from glass bottles.

My temporary bedroom. The shrine of the grandmother is centered in the room.

My temporary mom and sister. Usually chickens and pigs are in the pictured area during feeding time.

Andrew's solar oven, presently filled with jerky and dried bananas.

YUM!!!

Mike holding one of the neighbor's capybaras. I'm not sure why the neighbor has them, but the neighbor also had every possible farm animal you could have. 

Drinking terere with the neighbor and his daughter under the sombra of the mango tree. 

Ben presenting the group to the fishing comite -- all in Guarani. 

The entire LFP crew. Me, Shawn, Ben, Zari, Romana, Mike, and Andrew. We were a bomb team!