I Like to Swim When I´m horny, and other linguistical mishapsI

I have to comment on sweat. I now know sweat like I´ve never known before. It just drips and drips, it forms beads on nose and tickles as it drips down my neck and the backs of my knees, it soaks my clothes, and tastes rather salty. I am pressured to stop working and terere with every bucket of water I haul, whenever I borrow a tool, or go to cut more bamboo, but I like the rhythm of working in the garden.

I also love the spontneity of being here, and I need to get used to things taking a lot longer to get done. My house, for instance. It´s fun to be open to whatever comes along. I stop by one house to help harvest mandioca and then terere. I stop at another house, where I am given fresh bread right out of the oven, which I wash down with fresh pineapple juice. And then off to another house for popcorn and sweet mate. Paraguayans like to feed me.

I awoke the other morning to an uncharacteristically cool morning. Instead of the sun forcing its way through my window, I opened my eyes easily, feeling peacefully refreshed at 6am. There is finally rain! And it even rains in my room. I woke up in the middle of the night and placed cups in the five or six different spots around the room that were leaking, including on my bed. I´m now realizing that just a few months ago, that probably would have pissed me off. There was a tormenta the evening before, which came quickly, blowing in dark clouds, thunder, lightning, and hail, leaving me stranded at Obehenia´s house. She fed me soy pudding and fresh corn tortillas, so things could be worse. Obhenia runs my local store out of the window of her house, and whenever I go over to buy something, she´s always inviting me over and pressuring me to live with her. I´ve gotten a couple of more offers from people to live with them, and it´s good to know that there are people willing to take me in, though I´m hoping that my own house will be ready before that need happen.

I´m starting to pick up on people´s characters a little more than I was previously able to, as my language improves. Obhenia, for instance, likes to play with words. She´ll just start spouting out words that sound alike--I think that´s alliteration? It´s something I can see my grandpa appreciating, and it reminds me of how Mom will start singing a song that contains a word someone happened to say. Mamasha, one of my host moms, opened up to me about some strained relationships in the community. I will make one generalized statement: Paraguayans love to gossip, especially the señoras.

As for "work," if you can call it that, I´ve gone beekeeping a couple times, and, I tell you, there´s nothing like honey straight from the hive. Once we harvested the combs, we "milked" in with our hands into a screen to filter out the bits of wax and bee wings. That´s my favorite job. The other day, I went to a meeting with my Comité de Agricultores, and there was an expert visiting from Asunción to give a talk about crédito and a survey about people´s land and farm practices, and I was his designated helper. I didn´t realize how many people can´t read or write, let alone have farm plans. Not only did I have help fill out the forms, but I also had to translate some of the questions from Castellano to Guarani. I´m glad I have a decent grasp of Spanish. The other day, I needed to go to a meeting in another community, so I called my bus driver, Andrés, on his cell to ask him if he was going that way. He said he would wait and see how the road looked. He took me as for as the bus could travel on the seriously rough road and then refused to take payment, saying otro día.

The men in the Comité decided to have a work party in my garden on Saturday, so I was able to accomplish a lot that day. My fence is complete, the entire plot is hoed, a shade structure is in place, and I even managed to plan half the garden with green manures. And, que suerte!, the next day it rained, so I should have some germination soon.

I moved houses, yet again, the other day. I have three new sisters who are early twenties and really sweet. They´re also pretty progressive, wanting to complete their educations before they even think about marriage, boldly ignoring comments from the community about how they´re becoming old maids at 22. I´m happy to have some intelligent young women to hang out with. Many people don´t know what to make of me. This time in my life--25, single, on my own--just doesn´t exist here. Children live with their parents until they´re married, when they move in (usually) with the husband´s family. Many of my friends married at 18 the guy they had been dating since age 15 (when Paraguayan girls are allowed to start dating), and start popping out babies, many of whom are raised by the more capable grandparents.

I´ve been enjoying my new family. We sit and chat under the mango trees for hours, trading stories and shelling beans. And the Señora is a great cook. Lastnight, she made me something that resembled macaroni and cheese, or the closest thing I´ve seen yet. It was a rainy night, so perfect for homemade mac and cheese, it threatened to bring tears to my eyes.

And have I explained yet how Paraguay resembles Sunday morning at a festival? We all wake up early with the sun and with the commotion that comes from living in community. If the ground´s not too wet, I´ll do yoga with an audience of chickens and neighbors, or I´ll just sit with my family, still sleepy-faced, drinking hot mate and trying not to burn my tongue. I love Sunday morning at a summer festival, just sitting around with griends, sharing stories about the previous night, with nothing to do but enjoy each other´s company. There´s nothing to be stressed about--just another day of fun. Not that everything is here is fun or easy--hardly, but there is a different mentality here, where the majority of the time is spent just sitting around (it is summer, I guess). Work is merely a break from rest.

Whenever I write in my journal, people are so interested. Many do not have the pleasure of reading and writing, a skill I take for granted. Even people that go to school can´t read or write very well. Part of the problem is a lack of resources. I found Shel Silverstein´s "The Giving Tree" in Spanish in the Peace Corps library and brought it to site with me, and they love it. There are so many projects I could do here, but something I feel passionate about is introducing some creativity, which, I believe, will breed critical-thinking skills and help people help themselves. It´s such a simple idea, and I´m seeing first hand what happens to a community with no access to art or music or even an understanding of other cultures. I have to explain, for example, that Africa is not a country and that Germany is separated from the United States, not by a river, but by a very large ocean. I know a couple jovenes who have notebooks filled with poems and songs they´ve made up, but they have no outlet to express them. I keep thinking about how amazing it would be to put on a theatre production and have the kids sing, dance, act, and prepare the set. This place would explode.