I got up at 6am this morning and stepped out of the cave of a bedroom in my Paraguayan mom, Marina's, house in time to see the rising sun burning red through the trees. Marina's husband, Concepcion, was just finishing breakfast and on his way out to the field. Marina, my sister, Daisi, and I sat just outside the kitchen and proceeded to drink mate for the next hour and a half, while dogs, chickens, and piglets scurried around us. We chat about everything—relationships, religion, beekeeping, why the sky is bigger here. Then they are off in a flurry of activity, kicking up dust as they sweep the yard, picking up the dozens of fallen mangoes, feeding the animals, washing clothes and dishes, carrying small children to and fro. It feels good to be back.
“He was still too young to know that the heart's memory eliminates the bad and magnifies the good, and that thanks to this artifice we manage to endure the burden of the past. But when he stood at the railing of the ship and saw the white promontory of the colonial district again, the motionless buzzards on the roofs, the washing of the poor hung out to dry on the balconies, only then did he understand to what extent he had been an easy victim to the charitable deceptions of nostalgia.”
--Gabriel Garcia Marquez (Love in the Time of Cholera)
Ryan and I left Florida January 6th, both sick and sleep deprived. As the city lights of Asuncion grew bigger and rose up to meet the plane as we made our final decent into Paraguay I felt exhausted, but exhilarated with thoughts of my first arrival here four years prior and all that was to lay ahead. Just another victim of nostalgia.
As the plane taxied into the gate, no time was wasted as passengers lined up in the aisles and then proceeded to file out, feigning (or not) oblivion as I attempted to stand up. Then everyone hovered around the tiny baggage carousel so closely that we had to crane our necks from the back to watch for our bags and then watch people try to maneuver their luggage through the stagnant travelers. How did I forgot the lack of, what I call common, courtesy that gnawed at me for two years?
We exited the airport around midnight into the oppressive city heat and proceeded to take an overpriced cab to our hotel. To recuperate, we splurged on an air-conditioned room in a nice hotel I used to stay in on visits to the Peace Corps office. We visited the office, the downtown area, and then we couch-surfed with a Paraguayan for a night before leaving the city.
The first day or so in Paraguay was filled with doubts about my purpose here. Why did I return to this hot, dusty place with gigantic, biting bugs, and a marked lack of customer service and pedestrian rights. Still, it felt somewhat gratifying to embrace the heat and re-explore my old stomping grounds. Arroyo Moroti, however, was where I wanted to be. On day three we made the journey into the
yerba mate capital.
After two years, things look pretty much the same. Trees and children have gotten taller. There are also more
motos and cars. When I first got here four years ago it was a rare thing to see a car drive down these red, sandy roads. I know it is unfair of me to want Paraguay to remain frozen in time, while people here are working hard to improve their lives with first-world machines.
It is debatable whether or not cell phones, tractors, and motorcycles are improvements. For some, they are conveniences that have allowed more work to be done with less effort, granted access to education, and created positive change in general. For others, these conveniences are merely distractions and money pits.
The other day I asked Daisi about going to swim in the Tebicuary, like I used to do almost every day in the hot season. She said they don't go in that water anymore, as it is contaminated with mercury from the nearby mines. The district of Paso Yobai has been mined for gold for years, and the mining operations continue to expand, most of them illegally.
There is a Canadian company here that has been “searching” for gold for the past ten years. They are required to follow environmental precautions and to leave a percentage of their profit in the community for infrastructure. No improvement have yet been made.
The bigger problem, however, lies with all the illegal mines, operating haphazardly all over this area. There has been awareness of contamination of streams, but because of the wealth it has brought to the area, it does not look like the mining will slow anytime soon. Even the mayor owns a mine. As usual the vast majority of the citizens here do not see a single Guarani of the profit, and any protests are quickly quelled. It scares me to think what will happen here in ten years, if mercury continues to leach into the streams, and subsequently into the soil, and the crops. Who is to be held accountable when no one takes responsibility?
* * *
“...he allowed himself to be swayed by his conviction that human beings are not born once and for all on the day their mothers give birth to them, but that life obliges them over and over again to give birth to themselves.”
--Gabriel Garcia Marquez (again)
Being back in Arroyo Moroti and witnessing how little had changed, I was confronted with the same frustration with and admiration for Paraguayans that I felt years ago. I am frustrated by their complacency—their lack of motivation to create positive change, to stand up for themselves. On the other hand, I admire their contentment—with what they have, to do the same thing everyday, to be able to lay in a hammock and simply stare at the sky for an hour. Paraguay taught me to sit for long amounts of time, but I am the first to admit I still have a long way to go in the contentment department. I feel reaffirmed that we still have much to teach each other.
One more thing I am grateful has not changed: the sky. Before we arrived, I told Ryan that the Paraguayan sky is bigger than ours, and that is still the case. It is not a matter of more open space, or less structures blocking the view, because even in downtown Asuncion the sky seems to rise high, above the buildings, higher than it realistically should.
The sky is even more impressive here in Arroyo Moroti, with all kinds of clouds jutting up above the sugarcane fields, catching fire in pinks and purples as the sun dips below the Ybytyruzu Mountains. As Ryan pointed out, it's not just that you can see more sky, but that you can see further into the atmosphere than you can back home. I will always return to this big sky country.
One week in my old site turned out to be just the right amount of time. I ate enough
sopa and overdone
asado to keep my gums sore for days. I drank wine and coke with friends and family. I got some wind in my hair with my
moto transport. I compared battle wounds with the new Peace Corps volunteers in the area. I also got to share with Ryan what was such a big part of my life.
When I lived here, Paraguay forced me to confront my own opinions about poverty, wealth, happiness, and my place in relation to those around me. It put the idea of living in community in perspective and granted me the opportunity to create meaningful relationships with people in a tiny village in the middle of a little-known landlocked country in the heart of South America. Next stop: Buenos Aires...
