When I heard that I was going to Isla Pucu to meet Lindsey, I shrugged. One pueblo isn’t much different than another when you only know a name. I packed my school uniforms, an apo’i top for the supervision interview, and clothes for trudging through the campo. I figured it would be a bit like Naranjaisy but bigger.
I was quite wrong.
Isla Pucu is a little piece of heaven nestled quietly in the midst of rolling hills. It is considered a pueblo, but doesn’t have the city feel because everything is so green; most of the cobblestone streets are lined with trees and bursts of tropical flowers accent manicured lawns. The farmland surrounding the town is lush and speckled with quaint houses and cattle. The people are friendly but generally disinterested, which is a welcomed change for me. Everyone greeted me cordially but no one stared and very few asked questions.
I quickly learned why the town had such a familiar ambiance. Isla Pucu means “Long Island,” which is deceptive because 1.) it isn’t an island 2.) it isn’t New York. I’ve been told that it was a European colony, and at that time it was named something else. Those people left and wealthier Paraguayans moved in. Many of the current inhabitants are well-off because they or their family members have worked in America—primarily New York, hence the name—and sent money back here to Paraguay. Most of the people I talked to have lived in or have family working in Long Island or White Plains, NY.
My host family was no exception. Both parents spent a year or more in the States doing modest work (though neither speaks English). They came back as big-ballers and now live in a comfortable house with their two kids. My host sister, Claudia, dressed like she was ready for a Hollister photo shoot. Everyday. (Should I mention that she competes in—and wins—beauty pageants?) Her cute clothes, makeup, and highlights made me feel underdressed all the time. And there wasn’t anything that I could do about it since I brought my campo clothes and left my nice American duds in Naranjaisy. *sigh* My other host sister, Laura, was a bit more chill and reminded me of my real sister. I believe she is in school to be a hair stylist, but she didn’t wear her trade on her sleeve. My host mother, Estella, was rather demure and my boisterous host father, Emilio, instantly took up trying to teach me Guarani. Everyone was wonderfully nice and made me feel very welcomed. I settled in quickly and began the bittersweet process of getting to know people that I knew I’d have to leave.
When I wasn’t preparing for charlas on parasites, I enjoyed the ease of in-home internet access with my host sisters. We took pictures for Facebook, drank some T-re, and otherwise goofed around. We also watched brainless television, particularly a bad telenovela called “Victorinos.” At night I enjoyed taking a shower without shower shoes and drinking Coca Cola that was actually cold. In the mornings I made myself scrambled eggs or big bowls of Frosted Flakes. I guess you don’t know how precious these simple activities are until you haven’t had them for two months...
Of course, the peace and tranquility couldn’t last forever. Days at school were insane. We gave between 6-9 presentations a day (in Spanish, speckled with Guarani for flavor) about the parasite Sevo’i. I didn’t realize how much I hated repeating myself until then. We also administered oral evaluations to the kids, which means that I took the test too since I’m learning Spanish right along with them. We played 6-9 rounds of Duck, Duck, Goose (or Sano, Sano, Sevo’i) and freeze tag in the hot sun. It was a lot of work (more than most volunteers usually do in a school day, so I’ve been told) but it was great to get into the classrooms and put my skills to the test.
The experience reminded me that working with kids doesn’t come naturally for me. I really want to like “the creatures” as they are called here, but I just don’t have that magic touch that other volunteers seem to have. Everything feels forced to me. That’s something to consider when I get to site...
Leaving my host family and Isla Pucu was emotionally difficult. I hugged Claudia goodbye moments before she left for school, and we both lingered trying to think of something sentimental to say that we could both understood. We just laughed instead and hugged again. My host dad drove me to Lindsey’s house with my luggage and said goodbye in Guarani. My host mom was the last person that I got to see because she worked at the school. She invited me to come back and visit them and I think we got three good hugs in before she had to get back to her students. I didn’t get to say goodbye to Laura, which may be good because I likely would have choked up or said something stupid. I definitely plan on visiting my new friends. I know it will be even more fun to hang out with them when my language skills improve.
I really needed my vacation in Isla Pucu. Even though I was working, it was one of the first times that going home after work didn’t feel like going to second job. It was also one of the first times that I could hang out with locals my age that didn’t have kids to look after. The trip was a breath of fresh air and gave me the positive energy that I need to make it though the next few demanding weeks.
Site Placement Questionnaire—Almost there!
G-32 got screwed. We had our site placement interviews before long field practice, which is silly because we are asked what we want in our sites before we even know what a real site is like. Fortunately for me, I don’t think that I said anything that I regret and I will fill in the “Site Placement Questionnaire” with any details that I might have missed in the interview. It may not even matter; some say that the interview and questionnaire are just formalities and that Josefina has already matched us to sites. Regardless, I trust that it will all turn out for the best.
Visiting Isla Pucu confirmed that I want to live in a place that feels small but has a lot of options. I also want a site that is aesthetically pleasing. Perhaps most importantly, I want a site with progressive, liberal-minded people. (Now, keep in mind that progressive and liberal-minded Paraguayan-style is much more low-key than, like, US-West coast.) What made the people of Isla Pucu different is that they were chill but they CARED; in some towns in Paraguay that I’ve visited tranquilo translates to, “There are many problems that need fixing but I don’t give a damn. Drink terere.” In Isla Pucu, people generally seemed to use forethought: work smarter not harder; sacrifice a bit now for a better later; prevention is better than treatment, etc. A Peace Corps volunteer can do crazy-good things with a community like that. We spend less time trying to get people to care and more time making stuff happen.
I don’t know if Lindsey loves her site as much as I do. Our experiences would differ greatly since we are different people. But I see potential there that I hope to see in my site.
Monday, March 29, 2010
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
The Honeymoon is Over
We were told during orientation that we were in the “honeymoon” stage of our relationship with Paraguay. Most of us look at each other and shrugged. Very little is glittery about our small towns, and most of us are just happy to not live in mud huts. Surely there is nothing enamoring about piles of cow poo on the sidewalks—wait, there are no sidewalks—or million degree weather, or the never ending stares of the locals and the constant threat of parasites.
They then told us that weeks 3 and 4 would end the honeymoon stage.
I am in week 4. It is certainly over if it was ever there to begin with.
Everyone was in a slump today. No one was overtly negative, just hot and tired. And we are all a bit “over” group work. (If our trainers could control it, they’d make us take group bathroom breaks. “Everyone wait till 5pm to take a piss! We’ll do it as a group!”) Anyhow, we were given yet another group assignment today and I think we all secretly despised each other for it.
Then the cow poo hit the fan. We had our first real encounter with the bane known as “chisme,” the cute word here for senseless gossip. Apparently, some ladies got bored and decided to spread rumors that some of our group members were drunks. And by drunks, that means that they...had a drink? This wouldn’t be a problem, except that it’s hard for people to take you seriously as an educator when they think you’re an irresponsible alcoholic. Some of us were concerned that our trainers and language coaches would believe their family members over us. Needless to say, no one was feeling particularly fond of our neighbors that evening, but we decided to let it roll and pick our battles. We decided not to confront the culprits because it is considered rude here to confront people directly with a problem. (...yeah, that’s what I said). No one wants to make anything worse.
But the unspoken effects run deep. I think that there is a greater sense of distrust among us now; how do we know who is spreading rumors about us? In some cases, our own host moms are trying to ruin our reputations. It leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.
May sound random, but this whole experience makes me miss my mom. Back home, I’d roll my eyes whenever she told a re-story because she always seemed to exaggerate the details. If Brianna did a new dance, my mom would turn it into a 3 Act ballet set to Gershwin. If any of us had the least hint of talent, she claimed it would instantly make us famous and wealthy. But the great thing is that my mom always exaggerated for the benefit of her kids. She made us sound better. In sharp contrast, it really sucks to encounter “parents” here who may exaggerate stories about their “kids” with the intention of harming them. With that said, I *heart* my host mom. I just feel bad for my friends.
Cleaning House
Aside from chisme, I’ve had to get use to some other cultural differences. Some of the homes here (e.i. mine) blur the lines between inside and outside. There are open courtyards, windows that don’t close and don’t have screens, farm animals at your feet at the kitchen table...sometimes these things are pretty cool. Other times, not so much. Cool: waking up to a bunch of fuzzy baby chicks chirping and hopping around in the kitchen. Cool: Having a pear with lunch, then feed the cow the core. Cool: Showing with a tree frog. Not cool: the countless, dusty, bug infested cobwebs lining my ceiling and bathroom. Not cool: the plague of flies that always chill between my bedroom, the kitchen, and the bathroom. I kind of feel bad for them because the insects don’t know any better—some of our “rooms” are outside, which is their home—but I’ve gotten to the point now where I can’t catch and release one more spider! I just freakin’ kill ‘em. (I know, I lose PETA points.)
One day, I lost my mind and went on a cleaning spree. I dusted down all the cobwebs (gagging several times) and cleaned everything that was questionable. I was on a roll, so I wanted to attack the bathroom next, but I hesitated and decided against it. Would it offend my host-parents to clean their house? Probably. My host family understands that outdoor/indoor living has its inconveniences, so I don’t think they bother trying to tidy up some things. If I cleaned up after them might they be embarrassed or something? All of this is still new to me. Still don’t know what to do.
On the Brighter Side
The kids here are pretty awesome. There are a million of them with unexplainable amounts of energy, so there is always someone willing to play a game, or do barefoot yoga in an abandoned field, or participate in reading clubs. I was pleasantly surprised by how many kids here like books! Relative to incomes in this town, books are expensive luxuries and I’m glad that the other PCTs and I can share the goodness. We read about three short books with the neighbor kids in small groups, mixing in some games in between. In the beginning, I was really nervous because my language skills aren’t as strong as I’d like. Now, after giving two presentations in Spanish with a language interview on the horizon, chatting with a bunch of kids seems less daunting.
Oh, did I mention that I did two presentations in Spanish? Go me! Granted, it was nothing high tech or ultra impressive but I got up and there and made it happen. Baby steps.
They then told us that weeks 3 and 4 would end the honeymoon stage.
I am in week 4. It is certainly over if it was ever there to begin with.
Everyone was in a slump today. No one was overtly negative, just hot and tired. And we are all a bit “over” group work. (If our trainers could control it, they’d make us take group bathroom breaks. “Everyone wait till 5pm to take a piss! We’ll do it as a group!”) Anyhow, we were given yet another group assignment today and I think we all secretly despised each other for it.
Then the cow poo hit the fan. We had our first real encounter with the bane known as “chisme,” the cute word here for senseless gossip. Apparently, some ladies got bored and decided to spread rumors that some of our group members were drunks. And by drunks, that means that they...had a drink? This wouldn’t be a problem, except that it’s hard for people to take you seriously as an educator when they think you’re an irresponsible alcoholic. Some of us were concerned that our trainers and language coaches would believe their family members over us. Needless to say, no one was feeling particularly fond of our neighbors that evening, but we decided to let it roll and pick our battles. We decided not to confront the culprits because it is considered rude here to confront people directly with a problem. (...yeah, that’s what I said). No one wants to make anything worse.
But the unspoken effects run deep. I think that there is a greater sense of distrust among us now; how do we know who is spreading rumors about us? In some cases, our own host moms are trying to ruin our reputations. It leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.
May sound random, but this whole experience makes me miss my mom. Back home, I’d roll my eyes whenever she told a re-story because she always seemed to exaggerate the details. If Brianna did a new dance, my mom would turn it into a 3 Act ballet set to Gershwin. If any of us had the least hint of talent, she claimed it would instantly make us famous and wealthy. But the great thing is that my mom always exaggerated for the benefit of her kids. She made us sound better. In sharp contrast, it really sucks to encounter “parents” here who may exaggerate stories about their “kids” with the intention of harming them. With that said, I *heart* my host mom. I just feel bad for my friends.
Cleaning House
Aside from chisme, I’ve had to get use to some other cultural differences. Some of the homes here (e.i. mine) blur the lines between inside and outside. There are open courtyards, windows that don’t close and don’t have screens, farm animals at your feet at the kitchen table...sometimes these things are pretty cool. Other times, not so much. Cool: waking up to a bunch of fuzzy baby chicks chirping and hopping around in the kitchen. Cool: Having a pear with lunch, then feed the cow the core. Cool: Showing with a tree frog. Not cool: the countless, dusty, bug infested cobwebs lining my ceiling and bathroom. Not cool: the plague of flies that always chill between my bedroom, the kitchen, and the bathroom. I kind of feel bad for them because the insects don’t know any better—some of our “rooms” are outside, which is their home—but I’ve gotten to the point now where I can’t catch and release one more spider! I just freakin’ kill ‘em. (I know, I lose PETA points.)
One day, I lost my mind and went on a cleaning spree. I dusted down all the cobwebs (gagging several times) and cleaned everything that was questionable. I was on a roll, so I wanted to attack the bathroom next, but I hesitated and decided against it. Would it offend my host-parents to clean their house? Probably. My host family understands that outdoor/indoor living has its inconveniences, so I don’t think they bother trying to tidy up some things. If I cleaned up after them might they be embarrassed or something? All of this is still new to me. Still don’t know what to do.
On the Brighter Side
The kids here are pretty awesome. There are a million of them with unexplainable amounts of energy, so there is always someone willing to play a game, or do barefoot yoga in an abandoned field, or participate in reading clubs. I was pleasantly surprised by how many kids here like books! Relative to incomes in this town, books are expensive luxuries and I’m glad that the other PCTs and I can share the goodness. We read about three short books with the neighbor kids in small groups, mixing in some games in between. In the beginning, I was really nervous because my language skills aren’t as strong as I’d like. Now, after giving two presentations in Spanish with a language interview on the horizon, chatting with a bunch of kids seems less daunting.
Oh, did I mention that I did two presentations in Spanish? Go me! Granted, it was nothing high tech or ultra impressive but I got up and there and made it happen. Baby steps.
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
Staging, Orientation, and a bit after...
Staging
It’s been quite a while and so much has happened!
For staging, I met up with 49 other invitees in Miami, FL. It was a bit overwhelming, especially since no one really knew what was going on between checking in, an orientation that wasn’t really an orientation, and a not so clear dinner schedule. Things lightened up a bit in the evening: after a lot of paper signing and vaccinations (H1N1--ick) a lot of invitees strolled to a nearby Cuban restaurant. For most of us, it was the first opportunity to have full fledged conversations and get to know the others in our group. Everyone was in a pretty good disposition and we shared stories about our different regions of the country.
The next morning was a blur. There was a lot of information thrown at us at once, along with some icebreakers and other games dabbled in the mix. By the time we packed an overnight bag (luggage customarily arrived late, we were told) and made it to the airport, everyone was ready for dinner and a nice long rest on the plane. We broke off into groups to enjoy our last meal in America—at the airport—and settled on some overpriced American favorites like chicken fingers, quesadillas, and our favorite “adult” beverages that we might not get in beer-ridden Paraguay.
Let me emphasize the sadness of the first two meals. During these times, all 49 of us were together and we began forming friendships. We valued these times and clung to each other much more than normal strangers would. And after over 11 hours of flying and layover time, most of us started to feel like a small family.
Then they split us up.
Welcome to the Peace Corps.
Orientation
The 49 of us were split into three groups according to our projects. This was a bit shocking for some, especially since we happened to befriend the very people we would rarely see thereafter. We had to start from scratch again. We went through introductions again, awkward moments again, trying to find our niches again...This was the first time that I really realized the amount of flexibility PC requires.
This set off something in me that I hadn’t expected. I felt very hesitant to really get to know anyone because I knew that in 3 months I be ripped from them and expected to make new friends in a new community in a new country...but of course, you can’t thrive for three months in a new environment without friends. So what’s a girl to do? I suppose I did what everyone else did and just adjusted. Come what may, I’ve made so great new accomplices :o)
The same day that we landed we we met our temporary host families and moved in. This could’ve been awkward, but my fabulous host mom, Graciella, made me feel very welcomed. She switched between Spanish (Castellano) and Guarani, the local language, in order to help me communicate with the rest of the family. At this point, everything was still a bit crazy and I desperately await the opportunity to feel settled.
Orientation didn’t help. It was a mess of information, spiral notebooks, handouts, skits, team building activities, more information. Wait, what happened? In the midst of it all, we shared stories about our new homes. Let’s start with the basics: most everyone had electricity in some capacity. Running water and indoor plumbing are both harder to find among the RHS invitees, though most of us in EEE and UYD have that, too. The food is high in starch, proteins, and calories (just about everything is fried) so most of us were having vegetable withdrawals by day three.
I felt special because my host mother is very understanding of my vegetarian diet. Salad and a variety of veggies balance out my meals, along with fresh fruit and plenty of chilled water. Now, none of this is bought at a grocery store, mind you. Some of it is dug straight out of the back yard. Anyhow, its fresh. Even the starches taste good because Graciella is a fabulous cook.
Everything else hasn’t been such a breeze. I share my bathroom with gnats, spiders, cobwebs and frogs the size of baseballs. The humidity keeps my body and hair from ever feeling completely dry. The heat is...freakin’ hot. Nothing creative to say about that. Every day at meal time is like a picnic: select your food fast and chow it down before the flies carry it all away! And while were talking about the animal kingdom, I pass about 10 cows, 6 pigs, 30 chickens, a goat or two, and a minimum of 6 stray dogs on my way to class every day.
Oddly, none of that concerns me much. I did sign up for the Peace Corps, you know, and none of this is really “extreme.” Just different. Make friends with the giant frogs and cows, cover your food and you’ll be just fine :o)
Training Begins!
We were split into language classes according to our previous experience. I was a bit disappointed to be placed in the lowest level Spanish class. I soon realized that it wasn’t that bad; most kids in the upper level courses had spent months abroad, if not years. No way that my independent study could compare to immersion. Anyway, we started our language classes in the morning and our technical classes in the evening and I sort of developed a normal, human schedule. In language class, things that I thought I had forgotten resurfaced, and nuances that were a stinging enigma were bought to light. I LOVE my language class. The professor is hilarious, the perfect match for my two riotous compadres, Stefanie and Sam. We could probably learn more if we laughed less. Or not :o)
That brings me to current day. Yay! PCV site visits this weekend. I hope to keep you updated.
It’s been quite a while and so much has happened!
For staging, I met up with 49 other invitees in Miami, FL. It was a bit overwhelming, especially since no one really knew what was going on between checking in, an orientation that wasn’t really an orientation, and a not so clear dinner schedule. Things lightened up a bit in the evening: after a lot of paper signing and vaccinations (H1N1--ick) a lot of invitees strolled to a nearby Cuban restaurant. For most of us, it was the first opportunity to have full fledged conversations and get to know the others in our group. Everyone was in a pretty good disposition and we shared stories about our different regions of the country.
The next morning was a blur. There was a lot of information thrown at us at once, along with some icebreakers and other games dabbled in the mix. By the time we packed an overnight bag (luggage customarily arrived late, we were told) and made it to the airport, everyone was ready for dinner and a nice long rest on the plane. We broke off into groups to enjoy our last meal in America—at the airport—and settled on some overpriced American favorites like chicken fingers, quesadillas, and our favorite “adult” beverages that we might not get in beer-ridden Paraguay.
Let me emphasize the sadness of the first two meals. During these times, all 49 of us were together and we began forming friendships. We valued these times and clung to each other much more than normal strangers would. And after over 11 hours of flying and layover time, most of us started to feel like a small family.
Then they split us up.
Welcome to the Peace Corps.
Orientation
The 49 of us were split into three groups according to our projects. This was a bit shocking for some, especially since we happened to befriend the very people we would rarely see thereafter. We had to start from scratch again. We went through introductions again, awkward moments again, trying to find our niches again...This was the first time that I really realized the amount of flexibility PC requires.
This set off something in me that I hadn’t expected. I felt very hesitant to really get to know anyone because I knew that in 3 months I be ripped from them and expected to make new friends in a new community in a new country...but of course, you can’t thrive for three months in a new environment without friends. So what’s a girl to do? I suppose I did what everyone else did and just adjusted. Come what may, I’ve made so great new accomplices :o)
The same day that we landed we we met our temporary host families and moved in. This could’ve been awkward, but my fabulous host mom, Graciella, made me feel very welcomed. She switched between Spanish (Castellano) and Guarani, the local language, in order to help me communicate with the rest of the family. At this point, everything was still a bit crazy and I desperately await the opportunity to feel settled.
Orientation didn’t help. It was a mess of information, spiral notebooks, handouts, skits, team building activities, more information. Wait, what happened? In the midst of it all, we shared stories about our new homes. Let’s start with the basics: most everyone had electricity in some capacity. Running water and indoor plumbing are both harder to find among the RHS invitees, though most of us in EEE and UYD have that, too. The food is high in starch, proteins, and calories (just about everything is fried) so most of us were having vegetable withdrawals by day three.
I felt special because my host mother is very understanding of my vegetarian diet. Salad and a variety of veggies balance out my meals, along with fresh fruit and plenty of chilled water. Now, none of this is bought at a grocery store, mind you. Some of it is dug straight out of the back yard. Anyhow, its fresh. Even the starches taste good because Graciella is a fabulous cook.
Everything else hasn’t been such a breeze. I share my bathroom with gnats, spiders, cobwebs and frogs the size of baseballs. The humidity keeps my body and hair from ever feeling completely dry. The heat is...freakin’ hot. Nothing creative to say about that. Every day at meal time is like a picnic: select your food fast and chow it down before the flies carry it all away! And while were talking about the animal kingdom, I pass about 10 cows, 6 pigs, 30 chickens, a goat or two, and a minimum of 6 stray dogs on my way to class every day.
Oddly, none of that concerns me much. I did sign up for the Peace Corps, you know, and none of this is really “extreme.” Just different. Make friends with the giant frogs and cows, cover your food and you’ll be just fine :o)
Training Begins!
We were split into language classes according to our previous experience. I was a bit disappointed to be placed in the lowest level Spanish class. I soon realized that it wasn’t that bad; most kids in the upper level courses had spent months abroad, if not years. No way that my independent study could compare to immersion. Anyway, we started our language classes in the morning and our technical classes in the evening and I sort of developed a normal, human schedule. In language class, things that I thought I had forgotten resurfaced, and nuances that were a stinging enigma were bought to light. I LOVE my language class. The professor is hilarious, the perfect match for my two riotous compadres, Stefanie and Sam. We could probably learn more if we laughed less. Or not :o)
That brings me to current day. Yay! PCV site visits this weekend. I hope to keep you updated.
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