Chickens

I don’t like chickens. I like to eat chicken meat but I don’t like them alive.  Unfortunately, if I ever want to have another buffalo chicken wrap (oh how I miss those), the bird’s continued living existence is necessary.   These past statements may upset poultry activists but at this point in my journey in Paraguay, I don’t care.  I don’t like them (chickens, not poultry activists).

Perhaps my position will be more sympathetic with anecdotal support.  I moved to my home site on April 24^th.  On the morning of April 25^th, I awoke due to a strange sensation on my chest: a ten-week old chicken was walking across my body.  I feel fortunate that the chicken chose my chest and not my face as its runway.  Apparently, the wooden room where I am staying has several openings under the door and in the corners where small, yet determined chickens can wriggle themselves in order to force entry into my room.

My first two weeks in site have had two marked themes: awkwardness and chickens. I expected them both but not to the extent to which I have been confronted with them in almost all possible situations.  For the chickens, I have had my feet mistaken for food (not as painful as it sounds), watched a possibly demented chicken run sideways into a fence to escape imagined pursuers, seen a chicken get its head cut off but not run afterwards, fought a constant battle with a flock (is that the word?) of young chickens that runs into my room every time the door is open and then runs further into my room instead of out the door when I try to chase them out, had to avoid chicken feces every place I sit (inside and out), watched young chickens use my bags as trampolines as they bounced between the two while avoiding my waving arms andI have been scared to the point of screaming when a full grown chicken jumped into my room through the open window that is four feet off the ground.  It also doesn’t help my position that before I moved to Paraguay I had never found this particular type of foul to be endearing. Now, I really don’t like them.

As for the awkwardness, well that really is worse than my chicken predicament but at least I was prepared for it.  Before Peace Corps Paraguay, I spoke on the phone with a Returned Peace Corps Volunteer whom was a Rural Health and Sanitation Extensionist in Paraguay like I am now.  When trying to explain what it feels like to be a new volunteer, she gave me this analogy: ‘Imagine that a foreign exchange student knocked on your door to introduce herself out of the blue and tell you that she wanted to teach you about health and hygiene.  You’re going to be that foreign exchange student.’  During training, we were told that we could put “expert in awkwardness” on our résumés at the end of service. 

What is so awkward about the experience of moving to site and getting to know your community?  Of course there is the language barrier that has become a constant theme of both my blogs and my life.  Then there’s the whole fact that I’m new to town and I don’t look Paraguayan which results in children, adults and geriatrics alike staring at me no matter what I’m doing.  This is especially true for my two youngest host sisters whom for the first week when I was writing in my journal, would do nothing but sit and stare at me.  Staring at an adult write? When I was 7, I could think of ten thousand things more entertaining to do.  However, when I was 7, I had also had much more exposure to people from different cultures so I have to concede that one.  What has been most difficult for me has been the need to introduce myself and make conversations with complete strangers.  I come from a generation and area of the country (sorry, Philadelphia and its suburbs but it’s true) where introducing yourself to a stranger for no other reason than to meet the stranger isn’t just seen as weird but all too often as aninconvenience to the stranger.  Every time I go to a store, school or new house, I repeat the awkward cycle, telling them my name, that I’m new to town and trying my best to create small talk.  And there’s no avoiding it.  If I want to make these two years of service count, I need to become a member of the community.  My neighbors need to trust me and the help that I can offer them and that starts with the awkward first (and seventh) hello.

I have been blessed with two aides in the fight against awkward.  The first saving grace is my contacts.  One is a seventy-something man who has been the contact for Peace Corps volunteers that have been in this community off and on for the last few decades.  He is a sprightly and slightly irreverent man who knows every member of this community and is always willing to introduce me to someone if I ask.  The next is my teenage host sister who takes me to meet her relatives in the community.  As far as I can tell, large extended families living in close proximity to each other is a prominent part of rural Paraguayan culture and my host sister’s family is no exception.  The other thing that makes all the awkwardness a little more bearable is my community itself.  Almost everyone I have met seems to take my weirdness in stride, calmly accepting my poor communication capabilities and the strangeness of this foreigner’s conversations.

I don’t want to give the impression that these first two weeks have been totally uncomfortable.  For the  most part, I have enjoyed the start of my service.  I learned a new way to eat oranges that is more work but also more fun.  I have seen more stars above the field next to my house than I knew could fit in one sky.  I met some of the happiest children on Earth when visiting my site’s school.  I’ve enjoyed the tranquility that characterizes my community.  And I am looking forward to the next two chicken-filled years. 

Chipa Loaves and Fishes

There is a miracle story in the Bible in which there is not enough food to feed the large crowd of people which has gathered to hear Jesus speak.  Jesus tells his disciples not to worry and to pass out the baskets of loaves of bread and fish that are available.  After everyone in the crowd has eaten there is an abundance of leftover loaves and fishes.  The food in the baskets miraculously multiplied.  Here in Paraguay, I am witnessing a similar phenomenon- the chipa basket.  I am writing this on Easter Sunday (Pascua) which concludes Semana Santa or the holy week.  For my host family, the holy week festivities began on Wednesday when the family came together to prepare Chipa.  Chipa is a bread-like food that people shape into loaves, circles (like bagels) and other forms.  It usually consists of flour, mandioca flour, cornmeal, butter, water, anise, queso paraguaya, eggs or some other combination of traditional ingredients.  The really savory chipa features pig lard.  When chipa is fresh out of the oven, it is warm, soft and, in my opinion, delicious.  Five days later, not so much.   Try to imagine rolls that don’t get stale, they just get harder and less flavorful.

The practice of preparing chipa during Semana Santa originated because Catholic Paraguayans (a.k.a. almost all Paraguayans) do not eat meat on Good Friday and the more traditional families do not cook, either.  Therefore, they need a meatless food that can be prepared ahead of time and eaten at room temperature.  What surprised me about this process was HOW MUCH chipa my family prepared.  By my calculations, the six of us could have had chipa for every meal for 3 days straight.  However, this calculation did not account for the gift of chipa- every time someone came to the house or we visited another family, we were gifted with more chipa.  My family is sharing too, but the import rate is far greater than the export rate.  Every time I think we are making progress on our chipa basket and the count is going down, a new bag arrives and the basket is replenished.  Earlier today, I sheepishly asked my host sister what happens to all the chipa after Pascua and she responded with, ‘we eat it’.

So other than the chipa by the plateful, how has my first Paraguayan Semana Santa/Easter been? Sort of like everything I’ve experienced in Paraguay so far: fulfilling, frustrating, tranquil and awkward and usually more than one of those at once. Preparing the chipa with my host sisters, mother and grandmother was enlightening because I learned the Paraguayan manner of kneading dough (apparently I was attacking the dough when I thought I was kneading it) and that a paloma (dove or pigeon) is slang for male genitalia which is pretty funny considering that it is a very popular animal for children to model their chipa dough.  Thursday was my favorite day by far.  Jueves Santa is the most popular day for most Paraguayans to come together as families as they celebrate the last supper.  All the men in the family were working this Holy Thursday but my two host aunts came into town from Asunción with their children and we had an asado (barbeque) at my host grandmother’s house.  We spent the day talking, eating and drinking terere and mate.  The next day, Good Friday, utterly confused me.  After baking kilos of chipa in preparation for the day and getting a lesson at the Peace Corps Training Center on how somber the day was traditionally, I expected to spend the day at home with my family, studying or watching religious movies on the television.  Instead, my host sisters had friends over and my host parents and I spent the day visiting my host father’s family, eating snacks and then a full dinner which did not even include chipa.  I heard from some of the other trainees that their families visited a religious site where some people went as a pilgrimage and many others went as a social event as evidenced by the number of food and toy vendors that were there.  Saturday passed by like any other with the exception of the extra cleaning that was needed after the few days of household neglect. 

As Easter is an important day for my family back in the States, I kept hoping that my host family in Paraguay would do something to recognize the day- lunch, dinner, prayer, church, chocolate bunnies-anything that would make me feel a little more at home and help me to see what it means to be Catholic in Paraguay because I couldn’t see the religious significance in the week’s preceding activities.  Yesterday, I baked banana bread for the family explaining that it is my costume to celebrate the day of Pascua and that I had made it for the family to share on Sunday.  I asked my host mother several times what we would be doing on Sunday and when I was finally too frustrated with her vague answers, I directly asked her what time I could go to Church.  This morning, I went to Church with my two teenage host sisters in the nearest city.  As we arrived late and it was so crowded, we had to stand far outside and I was not able to hear or see any of the Mass but at least I was given time to reflect.  The rest of the day passed without event, excluding teenage drama between my mother and sisters, argued in Guarani which I felt fortunate not to be able to understand.  I found myself missing home and my family and wishing for a moment that I could go home, only for the day, and spend time with the people I love and eat chocolate bunnies to my heart’s content.

I am hoping that when I move to my rural site, I will be given the opportunity to better understand faith in this country.  I feel that it is more likely that I will be able to do this later on because my Spanish will improve to the point where I can have poignant conversations about religion without offending people (or so I hope). Secondly, my site contact person has already discussed going to church with me so I will have the opportunity to attend church as many weeks as I would like. 

I went to Catholic school for the majority of my education but I have never had the experience of this religion being so pervasive and yet simultaneously unremarkable.  It seems that the symbols of Christianity are everywhere: crosses, prayer posters, capillas, rosaries, yet I almost never hear anyone talk freely about God or go to Church unless it is for a social gathering.  I want to discover whether it is only my host community where I will feel this disconnect or in my future site, as well.  I moved to Paraguay at a time in my life in which I still identify as Catholic and openly say that I believe in Jesus but I am looking to explore my faith and the faiths of other cultures. I believe that I will be able to do this In Paraguay but definitely not by the immersion that I had expected because right now, I cannot see the place where culture stops and faith begins.

The Highs, the Lows and the Highlights

I have only lived in Paraguay for a month but it feels as if a year has passed.  It is not because I have stopped feeling like an awkward foreigner.  On the contrary, I do not feel comfortable enough to find my way around the nearest town or have a nearly coherent conversation with a Paraguayan other than my language instructor or my host mother. It seems to me that I have lived in Paraguay for a long time because so much has transpired.So much so that I am having difficulty remembering clearly the minute details of my former life.  ‘What time did I use to wake up?’ ‘ What was the name of that coffee shop I liked so much?’ ‘How much was a gallon of gasoline at the station near my house?’   My old life was normal and predictable and this constant state of abnormality is my new life.

The past few weeks have been challenging, exciting, disappointing, overwhelming, fulfilling and sobering but never boring.  I’ve heard from and read about RPCVs whom all agreed that Peace Corps service was an emotional roller coaster with some of the highest highs and the lowest lows that they had ever experienced.  I had prepared myself for the extremes of this once my service had begun and I was independent in a Paraguayan community.  While still in training, I had no idea that I could go through such intense changes in demeanor week to week, day to day and even, especially in the beginning of training, hour to hour.  Most of my days are spent with either the total group of trainees in a training center in the town of Guarambare or with my half of the group that lives in my host community for the ten weeks of training, Hugua Ñaro.  Much of training is highly structured language classes, technical classes (I can now build my very own trash pit but I can’t promise that it will be pretty.) and classes on the medical, safety and security and didactic techniques that we need to know to work in rural communities in Paraguay.  We also take trips to prepare us for service. 

The first major excursion was a day trip to the cities of San Lorenzo and Asunción in which we, with a partner, had to find our way around the cities and stop at specific sites that the training staff had chosen for us based on relevance to our future work in the health sector of Paraguay.  Thank God for my partner who is fluent in Spanish or I might have ended up in Brazil instead of at the Peace Corps headquarters in Asunción.  I got to practice a little conversational Spanish with my oh-so-patient partner while we were walking through Ciclovia, a park in San Lorenzo, and then again with the curator of the Museo Arqueológica y Etnográfico Guido Boggiani, a small but incredibly interesting museum that hosts artifacts and information about the indigenous Chaco culture.

The next week each trainee traveled to the site of a current Rural Health and Sanitation Volunteer to stay with him or her for three days and see an example of what our lives for the next two years could be like.  I visited a super guapa (Paraguayans use this word to describe attractive or hard-working people) volunteer in the department of Caazapá.  The experience was amazing and definitely reinvigorated my desire to work toward improving the lives of my future community while in Paraguay.  This volunteer is making a huge difference in the lives of the girls in her youth group and is determined and hard-working and I felt that I learned a lot about planning, working and keeping a healthy mindset while a PCV.  Plus, she made me iced coffee and whole wheat pasta with fresh veggies so I’m definitely a huge fan.  I enjoyed speaking to members of her community, particulary her contact and neighbors.  Everyone was so warm and spoke in Spanish very slowly to me, which I greatly appreciated.  We met with my volunteer’s VAC and two other trainees one day to talk and film their local television show about Peace Corps and issues important to the volunteers’ environmental/agricultural, economic development and health projects.  The two other trainees handled the situation with composure while I hid from the camera which is a very funny story which I might one day tell upon request, in person, if I ever get over my chagrin. 

This past week, each language group and teacher traveled to a volunteer’s site for “Long Field Practice.”  Although we visited possibly one of the coolest volunteers in Paraguay and my host family for those four days was genuinely interested in my well-being and the mother was a fantastic cook, I had a tough week.  To use a runner’s analogy, ‘I hit the wall’ or in Spanish: Choque entre la pared.  Training has been intense, which I usually wouldn’t mind, but my own intensity and perfectionist mindset has started to take a toll.  I know that I need to ease up on myself to really enjoy the whole training and service experience but this week when I struggled to communicate with my new host family or give presentations to the local public school students, I felt discouraged.  It was another example of the highs and the lows.  I had one evening when I had an almost coherent conversation about diet and exercise (…possibly themes of some of my future work) with my host mother and the next morning I read like a robot from my notes while giving a charla to a group of 5^th graders.

Training is half-way done.  I have experienced so much that I’m scared to take the time to reflect on all of it and why the highs and lows have affected me the way that they have.  I suppose it’s a good thing that I have so little free time and the free time that I do have, I have a compulsive need to fill with productive activities like practicing Spanish with my host family or washing all of my clothes by hand or going to a birthday fiesta of another trainee (not really productive but necessary for my own sanity).  I have so much left to learn but there are moments when I am nearly itching to get out there and start my new life.  However, now is the time to take one day at a time, break through this emotional and psychological wall, preferably by finally being able to pronounce ‘psicologia’ with ease and try to understand the highs,  the lows and my reactions to them both because there will certainly be plenty more.

¿Entiendo?

When I envisioned my life as a Peace Corps Trainee/Volunteer or when I read the manuals and stories I always imagined that getting to know a family and community would be awkward but I can’t believe I did not consider how much more intensely difficult it would be for me with such weak Spanish skills.  I moved into my host family’s house on Friday night and am extremely fortunate  that they are very patient, especially my host mother who often has to repeat questions and directions to me multiple times before I am able to answer back with a weak “entiendo”.   All Peace Corps trainees and volunteers encounter challenges with learning or mastering their host countries’ languages so I do not feel that I am in an unfair situation (I know how fortunate I am for this amazing opportunity).  However, I am more keenly aware of my language struggles because so many of the other trainees in my group seem to be fluent, proficient or nearly proficient in Spanish and many will be placed in the advanced language class which begins by studying Guarani, the indigenous language of Paraguay. 

I came here to integrate into a new culture, learn from them and hopefully accomplish meaningful development work for the health of the Paraguayan people and none of this can happen if I don’t commit myself fully to learning the language.  And that is exactly what I plan to do.  I spent most of yesterday with my host mother and her extended family trying to communicate in broken Spanish and sometimes succeeding which in itself is a success.  I have only been in the country for a few days and have not even started formal language classes yet, so there is no need for me to become despondent.  But God am I nervous. 

There are many reasons for me to be grateful and happy.  We have been blessed with beautiful weather, full of sunshine and breezes.  Although it is hot during the day, the main room at the training center has air conditioning, my room at my host family’s house has a fan and it is quite comfortable in the shade, especially in the evenings.  In addition to my host mother, I have a host father and three sisters although one is a dancer and is away from home for the next week. Many cousins, aunts, uncles and grandparents live in the neighboring houses and they stop by throughout the day so I am getting to know the whole family.  The oldest sister, who is fifteen, is also helping me with my Spanish.  On Saturday, I taught her English words while she taught me Spanish ones.  My youngest sister is seven and is very sweet but I think she is a little disappointed that I can’t communicate with her better.  However, she did appreciate what a great playmate I was at the park last night- playing on a jungle gym and ‘hide and go seek’ requires very few words.  In addition to my kind host family, the other trainees are wonderful.  Just talking with them about our host family and training experiences reminds me that I am not alone.

Staging and Arrival in Paraguay

Today is my first day in country as Peace Corps Paraguay Trainee.

I had avoided creating a blog until this time because of my self-critical nature in regards to my writing and because of my belief that what I would have to say couldn't possibly be that interesting (yesterday I saw a chicken...today I saw a goat...).  However, after speaking to several other volunteers with blogs, I realized that I should not be self-conscious to write because I am not attempting to sell the next New York Times #1 but rather share my life with those back home whom I care about and can't talk to on a regular basis anymore.

On Tuesday, I said goodbye to my family at the Philadelphia International Airport and flew to Miami for Staging.  I ran into two volunteers on the shuttle to the hotel.  Each new trainee I met seemed just as open and eager as the last.  The tone of the night was distinctly friendly with each person genuinely interested in getting to know each other.  It had been a long time since I was in a situation of meeting a group of new people in which they didn't expect something of one another but seemed to just enjoy the meeting.

We had staging the next day, full of ice breakers and group activities and seeming all too much like a company's team-building retreat.  The information was useful and gave us an opportunity to get to know each other and the Peace Corps policies better.  At 6:30 we left for probably the longest (time-wise) journey of my life. All twenty-eight of us loaded onto a bus with 80+ pounds of luggage each.  We weaved through what felt like eighteen gates of the Miami Airport.  We took a nine hour red-eye where the food was fine and my sleep was a good as can be expected in almost no personal space.  Following this, there was a four-hour layover in Buenos Aires where I drank very good cafe con leche and learned some new card games.  The least enjoyable part of this layover had to be changing and trying to make myself look less homeless in the airport bathroom.

Next, we took a fairly small plane to Asunción where the flight crew was courteous but the turbulence was enough to warrant some Tylenol and Pepto Bismal. After another two hours, we disembarked and met our Country Director and other Peace Corps Paraguay staff in a much more muggy but not unbearable Paraguay.  We went over logistics and rearranged our bags and crammed ourselves and our carry-on luggage onto a passenger bus made for 30 people on a good day.  Traveling through the streets outside of Asunción to the retreat center was one of the most exciting parts of the journey.  We started a game awarding points for being the first to spot roaming cows, chickens, horses, mopeds and funny store signs.  It was on this part of the trip that the reality that I would be living in this country for the next two years finally hit me.  To say that I was overwhelmed would be an understatement.  It is not just the dramatic change in living conditions and culture that I will face, but by the current onslaught of new experiences, sights sounds and especially introductions and interpersonal relationships that I am currently living.  I am both excited and scared at the same time.  I know that this entire experience will be worth it in the end but right now I will try to ease my anxiety by enjoying each moment focusing on one day at a time.