Machucando sus Preguntas ::: Crushing your Questions

Here are some answers to questions friends and family have about Paraguay. In the comments, please correct me if you are more knowledgeable or if you just want to share your opinion.

      What do people do to pass the time when not working for fun?

There are two things you should know about Paraguay in order to understand this answer. First, terere is a sort of cold, loose leaf tea and second that tranquilo means all is well, pretty much at least. From what I've seen so far, the people here live a tranquilo lifestyle, sitting in the front of their house in a semicircle looking out towards the street and passing terere. Things go by very slowly here, especially from the perspective of a hustlin' and bustlin' Chicagoan. Some people have their telenovelas that they watch, but in terms of socializing there's a lot of sitting, laughing, and terering involved. I suppose some people drink as well, but I think the more party lifestyle really only exists in the capital city, Asuncion. Someone can correct me or add information in the comment if I'm mistaken. 

       What's a traditional meal for them there?

I'm happy to say that I've really loved the vast majority of Paraguayan food. A traditional meal could possibly be some sort of noodle dish or hot soup, usually with beef and sometimes with chicken. You will definitely always have mandi'o (yuca) or bread on the table and possibly some tang. The lucky ones (like Jason and I) live with families that cook with a lot of vegetables. Some volunteers have found their diets completely lacking in this food group. Some families eat salads; I've seen two kinds here. Salads with tomatoes, lettuce, onion, salt, vinegar, and sunflower oil (YUM! There is no olive oil here), or a coleslaw type with mayonnaise. Traditional breakfasts only include bread and a milk based drink (like cafe con leche or milk with yerba). To summarize the food: carbohydrate-dominated, fried, salty, filling, yummy, lots-o-mayonnaise, meaty goodness. 

      What different "senses of identity" are there among the people?

There is a great sense of national pride here. People love their country and are proud to identify as Paraguayans. I also hear a lot of people say, “en el campo,” to describe the lifestyle of those who live far out in the very rural parts of Paraguay. This makes me think that there are three types of identifies, very similar to those in the states: rural (farming lifestyle, often poor, often speak only Guarani), urban (more dense living environments, not sure if they have chickens – overall I don't know much about this style of living), and suburbanish (houses are more spread out and people definitely have lots of animals, can be a diversity of wealth). Lastly, Paraguayans frequently side with one of two football teams: Olympia (black and white) or Sero (blue and red). People LOVE their soccer here. I own a red and blue shirt and my Olympia-adoring family hates it. But it's all in jest, even though they really do love their relative soccer teams. 

       Did I just read an article about Paraguay regulating and selling marijuana? 

I have heard nothing about this. I'll keep you updated. 

       How far do you have to walk to go shopping?

Just a few blocks. I live in a more urbanized area, so I am surrounded by shopping opportunities. There is no such thing as a Wal-mart here, but there are lots of hardware stores and small tiendas. Jason and I have zero problems getting what we need. 

       What are things that are readily available in the states and not in Paraguay? 

Real, delicious dark chocolate – scratch that – just some regular delicious chocolate. Their chocolate is horrible and they have no idea what deliciousness they're missing out on.  American-style coffee. There's mostly instant here and the coffee drinkers seem super unhappy. Diversity of cheese. You will not readily find cheddar, goat cheese, or other staples of the American diet. They primarily use queso Paraguaya or sandwich cheese, but nothing really inspiring to my palate. Like I said, olive oil. But, they have sunflower oil and it is yum-tacular. Hot peppers. Paraguayan food is not spicy, therefore trainees with fiery tongues have found it hard to adapt. Whenever they can they buy hot sauce and put it on everything. Septic systems that can handle tp. Yep, we throw our toilet paper in the trash. It's really not as stinky as you would think. 

And on that note I'll be gone for most of next week, so I will probably not update for a bit. Happy early November!

Maria hacking away at weeds with a machete. 

Sara digging a space for one of our wee trees. 

I can dig too!

Sara and I standing proud over one of the two trees that we planted on the grounds of the local agriculture high school. The school is free and includes room and board. Seniors spend their final year working on projects, like building fish ponds, maintaining a garden, or raising pigs. 

Miguel and Megan working together on the tree seed memory game.

7 members of the 21-member agriculture group in G-43. Go team go!

Enjoy some butt-ball. 

Machucando Guarani ha Missiones ::: Smashing Guarani and Missiones

I love speaking in Guarani. Kyryry (koo-roo-roo, frog), chivivi (shee-vee-vee, diarrhea), and chyryry (shoo-roo-roo, fried); these are all words that bring me great joy. Che rera Nicol ha che ahayhu ane'ehina Guaranipe. Welcome to Guarani. Jagua means dog. You want to make it small? Add an 'i (jagua'i). You want to talk about two or more dogs, just add kuera (jaguakuera). Speaking in Guarani is like a puzzle that I can actually accomplish. But the greatest reason why I love Guarani is that I'm learning an indigenous language that belongs to the people of Paraguay. This is the language of their hearts, their souls. I've been repeatedly told that you don't have to always speak Guarani to people in el campo, but if you do, you significantly deepen the connection between yourself and the community. I witnessed this regard one week ago.

Jason and I hopped on a bus and traveled three hours to the capital city of el Departmento de Missiones. While waiting in the local square, a young girl with short hair and glasses approached us. She is definitely an American. Stacy gave us a both big hugs and welcomed us to her Department. A rickety bus painted loosely in green, blue, and red dropped us off in her small community of 250 people. Surrounded by chomping cows and squawking chickens, her simple house became our (temporary) home and Stacy became our interim sy, or mother. This impressive 24-year-old is serving her first year as a Environmental Conversation and Education PCV. Over a terere session she told us about how she has just raised and slaughtered her first pig and how she is now raising two young chicks. She has also worked diligently to establish relationships between herself and her host community. While first staying with nine different families (YES NINE FAMILIES IN 3 MONTHS), she has made a grand effort to meet most of her neighbors and she has also applied herself to learning Guarani. Let me tell you, there is nothing cooler than hearing a little rubia speak Guarani fluently.

For those three days Jason and I were free. We had plenty of space to be together or be apart, we ate beans and vegetables for every meal of every day, and we terered every possible relaxing second. It was pure bliss to live with Stacy in that brief period. Jason and I have been back in Guarambare for one week now and we are increasingly eager to move out into the campo. There are many unknowns that await us in two-months time, but Jason and I agree that goats and chickens exist somewhere along our upcoming path. Lately, my evenings and weekends have been occupied by studying Guarani, washing and ironing clothes, cleaning our mini-house, playing sudoku, and spending time with new friends, the family, and Jason.

 My language class writing notes in Guarani.

One of my AMAZING language teachers. We are so lucky to have the best language team out of the four satellite sites.

My training crew relaxing with some ice cream. I should add that in the States we're pretty lucky to have the best ice cream options.

Jason helping Stacy prepare our first meal in her kitchen. She had a small propane oven, a large refrigerator, and indoor plumbing. It was very nice.

Some terere with chamomile fresh picked from the garden. 

A wild mama monkey hanging out in the treetops. 

Jason picking berries from an Inga tree. Very similar to muscadine berries in South Carolina. 

Jason and Amy at the "falls"

Preparing to make soap with one of Amy's neighbors.We picked yuyus from the garden and cut off part of a cactus for this process. 

I'm stirring the pot -- very witch like. The bucket was extremely hot due to some sort of chemical that we added. The process seemed somewhat dangerous.

The final product (almost!) The neighbor has been making her own soap for 15 years.

A picture of the rubia chick. One night both climbed all over the three of us. Although I want to believe that she loved me, she was probably just cold.

Amy in front of her house walking to outside wash station.

My adorable nieces. 

Machucando mis Primeros Pensamientos ::: Smashing my First Thoughts

My favorite word since arriving in Paraguay is guapa. Yes, it can apply to men as well (guapo), but perhaps my feminist ear is more attuned to hear the feminine version of the word. My mother is the best example of what it means to be guapa. She wakes up before everyone else, makes multiple meals throughout the day to accommodate the various schedules of the family, takes care of her young grandchildren, cleans, washes clothes by hand, irons, runs the store inside her house, and ALWAYS has a smile on her face, despite how tired or how much pain she is in. She is muy guapa, or very hardworking.

Another thought about Paraguay is that the people here are amazing. Paraguyans are a lovely people, who accept me no matter how poor my Spanish or absent my Guarani (the local indigenous language – both Spanish and Guarani are often spoken by residents). Second, I've immediately noticed dogs are of a different status here than in the States. They are not loved the same way, they are sometimes not fed well, and overall their care is just...different. In the small city where I live you will rarely find one that is leashed or fenced. They are free to wander in and off the property. Here in Gurambare they trot into and down the street, and return back immediately after their brief stroll. Third, it is taking me a long time to realize that I am not in the States. Perhaps it's because I moved from apartment to apartment while in Chicago, or back and forth between South Carolina and Illinois, but I am indeed finding that I am arriving in layers; my body has arrived and my mind has yet to follow. Today, I found myself saying here when in fact I was referring to the US, or there. I'm clearly discombobulated. Fourth, the diet here is FULL of carbohydrates and many dishes are fried. So far I've found my meals to lack fiber and nutritional value, aside from those nutrients found in meat. I've been told that diabetes is problem here and working to improve diets is often a secondary project of volunteers. One PCV (Peace Corps Volunteer) told me that in her community the people are aware of the problem and are seeking ways to improve their diet.

Lastly, we were warned before we came that Paraguayans are very particular about personal appearance. I'm finding that to be true within my household. Our mother has already commented on our dirty feet, dirty bookbags, and wrinkled shirts. At the very least I'm glad that she feels comfortable enough to bluntly tell us to address these items, as opposed to working them politely into conversation as I'm told many Paraguayans do. Overall, Jason thinks that we have picked up better habits, although I think that this is especially true for him. Cough. I always ironed my shirts if they were wrinkled or washed something if it was dirty. My evening tasks? To iron the pile of clothes that I have been washed over the last couple of days and prepare for tomorrow's excursion to the capital city of Paraguay, Asuncion.

P.S. Sorry for the grammatical mistakes in past blog entries – I imagine my English teachers to paint these posts with red pen and write “EDIT!” in large letters at the top. Well from now on I'll ***try*** to have my editor (Jason) check my work. :)  

Machucando el Micro ::: Crushing the Bus

Friday began with great excitement – our tech classes had finally begun. Building a fence out of bamboo, creating a demo vegetable garden, and meeting the baby chicks that we will use for training are just a few of the activities that we ag (agriculture) folks completed over Friday and Saturday. Our training manuals are finally in our hands and we all perused the golden pages with delight and curiosity. I'm most elated for the chapters on beekeeping, agroforestry, and small animal husbandry. AHH! My heart rate has exponentially increased just thinking about the amazing future that awaits.

With the fluttering of my eyes and removal of my earplugs I realize it is Sunday. My arch-nemesis disturbs my attempts to fall back into my dreams. Ur-oo-ur-oo-RUUUU! Part of me – the evil part – wishes that our dog, Osama, will eat him tonight, like he murdered a poor hen a few nights passed. I immediately get up and begin washing clothes. The clothes washing station is undesirable so I choose to complete the task in our bathroom sink. Soak two t-shirts, lather with a bar of detergent, and scrub, scrub, scrub. Remove as much of the soap as I can and spot a free space on the clothes line. Repeat with three pairs of dirty socks.

After lunch it is time to face my fear – riding the bus. The experience has been discussed at length in our group and last week we were shown photos of people piled into the door and hanging off. Apparently Chicago rush hour has nothing on Paraguay. We are meeting other trainees for a game of soccer and two micros stand in my way. Jason and I follow a Paraguayan onto the first bus and are quickly at the half way point. Now to transfer to the second bus, or micro as they are called here. The first bus passes and Jason and I stand there with flies in our mouths. Damn. Alright, I decide I will not let the second bus get the best of me. When we see it coming we both stick our arm out and do the three finger wave. No luck, the bus zooms passed us with no regard. After an hour of bus riding and walking 2 miles we arrive at the field. Vole! I love volleyball! A bunch of trainees have started a game while the vast majority play soccer. At one point about 25 trainees are huddled together, drinking beer, talking, and most notably drinking water from Nalgene bottles. A line of community members stand against the fence and watch us as though we are in the American exhibit at the zoo. I can't stop looking at them looking at us. After a few hours of chatting and playing in the north sun, we found ourselves awaiting the bus. We are able to catch the first one, barely. Jason is hanging halfway out the door. Immediately after getting on Jason is asked by the driver to move to the back door. I find myself alone standing in the front entrance of the bus, only a few steps away from the asphalt. I look out and watch small tiendas, cows, and trees flash passed in ephemeral images. The warm air collides with my face and my hair dances in the wind. It's absolute contentment – except for the residual amounts of diesel exhaust that assault my nose.

We arrive home and I immediately assist my sister with dinner. Tonight we make empanadas. The task is arduous and time consuming. Cook the veggies, add the meat, spoon them out into a flattened circle of dough, fold over, and smoosh, smoosh, smoosh the edges with a fork. Deep fry 25 empanadas one at a time to conserve oil. Now I know how to make this tasty meal and Jason is a happy man. I help clean the dishes after cooking. “How hardworking!” My mom tells me. I respond, “Sometimes.” I don't think I'm deserving of that adjective...not yet anyways. Maybe tomorrow.

Tech training with our leader Brian and PCV Bryce. In this photo we're learning how to make a tablon, or raised bed.

Taking the skills we learned and applying them. The soil here is mostly comprised of red clay and sand. It's very hard to dig.

Walking from the school to the garden.

Our first view of the chicken pen!

Baby Chicks! We're going to learn how to raise them, and I believe slaughter and clean them as well. 

My first time ever holding a chick. Soon I'll learn how to handle them as chickens!

The "school" -- it's really just a very nice house that PC is renting-- where we practice language and tech skills at our satellite site.

Machucando el Primero Semana ::: Crushing the First Week

Day 1.

As we exit the airport I recognize a familiar smell. South America. My heart feels nostalgic for my family in Peru and Argentina, and longs for all of the things I want to take away from this experience. We exited the airport and loaded ourselves onto a large bus. I enjoyed watching Jason look out the window for for the entire 1.5-hour ride from Asuncion to Guarambare; his eyes constantly moving and head turning as items of interest zoomed by. We piled into the main room of the "Cuerpo de Paz" building and were greeted by Peace Corps staff singing local songs.

After a day of paperwork and chatting with new friends I met my Guarambare family. Jason and I have special circumstances because we are married. Whereas everyone else was escorted to their new host town to meet their families, Jason and I were driven one-mile down the road. When we pulled up to the house many members where already sitting on the front stoop enjoying the tranquilo lifestyle. Mi mama greeted us with the typical warmth of South America that I strive to emulate. After exchanging two kisses with her (one on each cheek) and giving mi papa a firm handshake (as I was trained to do) I found myself passing through the dark storefront and fairly long house. We passed an outdoor kitchen and fiound ourselves at the back of the property. We've arrived at our new dwellings. A simple white door opens to a small doorway that peeks into the bathroom. To the left a red room calls our name.

I could never have imagined that within one day I would gain a new mama and papa, ten siblings, and 15 nieces and nephews. It was a great start to this journey.

Day 5.

“The time is 5:00. It is time to wake up,” I hear mid-dream. My phone is talking to me and I'm not ready to listen. I snooze for about twenty-minutes more before I force myself to get out of bed. At this point I'm wearing my wool socks, two pant layers, a t-shirt, and a sweater. The unseasonably cold temperatures the night before seem to have gotten the best of me. But regardless of the amount of sleep, I must get up. I've promised mi mama that both Jason and I will drink mate with her this morning. We arrive for our desayuno (breakfast) but there is no mate. Her son has stolen her guampa, so instead we found ourselves drinking cafe con leche and eating pan con dulce and conchitos (little balls of hard-bread/crackerish deliciousness.)

“Suerte!” my mom shouts as we begin our morning journey. I walk away proud in the brisk air, grasping my bagged lunch in one hand and passing the neighborhood children on their way to school. Today, we are all students in Guarambare.

Fast-forward to 9:00am. They have bussed two groups from los companaros, including my own. This is our first full day at office and my stomach has began to turn. I can feel my rumin turning cud; something is wrong. I already want mi mama to make me mate with yuyus (Guarnini for medicinal herbs).

After the long day we walk the mile route back to our home, stopping at the ferreteria to exchange a piece Jason purchased the morning before. I can hear the mechanisms in my stomach and I imagine them to look like a cotton-candy machine, the contents of which are not as pleasant. “Que tal mama?! Mi estocimago no siente bien.” She transcends the boundaries of physics and reads my mind. “Si. Mate con anise, burrito, y mansanilla.” What an amazing women. She gives me mi thermo and mate and sends me to rest. An hour later I find myself back in her presence and it is time for dinner. Tonight I only eat yuca and eggs because of my stomach, while Jason eats yuca and eggs, pasta, and Jorapa. Jorapa, a soup of beans, rice, and vegetables, marks October 1^st, a time of food scarcity for the people of the country. This is an important day. My mom tells me to walk back and forth on our block to settle my stomach. I do as I am told. “Adio!” Jason and I shout as we walk by our family, while they watch us on the front stoop. We all laugh.

I've enjoyed my experience so far in Paraguay. I cannot say that I've met everyday with great alacrity; I have already found myself to ebb and flow between happiness and loneliness and apprehension and contentment, all in the same day, sometimes within an hour or two. Small breakfasts start my morning, awkward social situations fill my day, and cold showers close the night. Yes, we do not have hot water and it is not pleasant. Talking myself into showering, turning on the cold water, soaping up my loofah and then my body, splashing my self off, and washing my hair last has become my routine. Regardless of the unpleasantness, we have our own little coach house and we are fed delicious meals each day, so I have little to complain about. Jason and I have somehow acquired the identity of the married couple within our group of 47 Peace Corps trainees. Clearly, we are the only ones within G43 (our cohort name) to be married. Although it does not comprise our whole identity in PY, I sense that I am different. Day 5. It's hard to believe that I've been here for such a short period of time. I already feel so close to my Paraguyan host family and settled into our home. A miniscule amount of Guarani has already entered my vocabulary, which is a noteworthy feat considering native language classes have yet to begin. Still to remain: ag-tech training classes and making friends.

A view of the local procession in commemoration of the Triple-Alliance War and Santa Miguel. You can see young boys dressed in green uniforms, to represent all of the men that had died during the war. Our family also passed out water and food to symbol the thirst and starvation the soldiers endured. 

My amazing mama and one of my brothers. 

A cute photo of our three-year-old nephew.

Jason showing our little nephew how to make origami birds.

Jason and our Papa Nestor. 

Jason in our new bedroom. Although our bed is made only of foam, I've found it to be surprising comfortable.

 Here's a picture of our bathroom. Notice that the water tank is above the toilet and that there is no electric water heater on the shower (which means only cold showers). 

P.S. It's taken me 3+ hours just to **post** this blog. I suspect that I am not going to post very often.