The Air Really is Good

After a 19-hour bus ride (I sat on top deck up front with a reclining chair, so it really wasn´t bad), we arrived in Buenos Aires. The city´s name means good air, named for it´s clean, fresh breezes, and that really was the first thing I noticed when we stepped out of the terminal. Buenos Aires makes Asunción look like a trailer park. Besides the fresh air, the streets are clean, there are huge trees, and lots of green spaces. And everyone´s friendly. If I ask someone for directions, I´ll get a whole group of people giving me explanations in a beautiful Italian-sounding accented Spanish.

The first night, we went to see Radiohead, which was amazing. Days are spent wandering around the city, drinking good wine in the park, people-watching, and also visiting the embassy and police station because my friend got his backpack stolen the first day we were here, which contained his passport and credit cards. But that has not stopped us from taking full advantage of our time here, though I´m going to need a vacation from this vacation when I get back to Paraguay.

Lastnight, I went out with my Paraguayan host brothers who work in Buenos Aires. It was nice to speak Guarani in a place where no one else understands it. This morning, I felt very Euro, drinking my café cortado and my medialuna, which translates into half moon and is really a little croissant with a delicious honey glaze.

Tonight, I get back on the bus for Paraguay. It´s been a short trip, but I definately want to come back here. I never got to tango. Apparently, it´s hard to find spontaneous tango dancing in the streets, which is what I had been hoping for. I´ll have to make my own tango.

When Life Gives You Avacados...Make Milkshakes?

I'm living on my own for the first time in my life, and I'm loving it. Not even when I hear scary sounds on my roof at night (later I found a dead cat) do I wish I had a roommate. I have plenty of close neighbors and uninvited visitors to remind me that I'm never truly alone. And it doesn't bother me to see Abuela sweeping the yard or the kids carring out the trash while I'm squatting in the very public latrine.

Since I planned to take a mini-vacation to Buenos Aires On Monday to go see a Radiohead show, I wanted to be extra guapa (hard-working) for the week before I left, and it´s definately been busy. Twice I´ve biked to another community with a neighboring volunteer to work on a library project at the school--the only library I´ve seen thus far in Paraguay, which contains outdated encyclopedias and text books; there´s nothing that resembles a novel. We were working on a grant proposal to update their materials, and I spent Monday afternoon running around Asunción, dropping off proposals at various organizations who might be able to dontate. Brainstorming, we came up with a plan to get a computer with internet in the school, which would be a stretch, but amazing if it actually worked. The national government has decreed that every school should have one computer, like there should be a health center in every commununity. But like most things here, these mandates lack funding. Most successful projects I´ve seen here have been funded by NGOs, but even these organizations get frustrated by working with Paraguayans, who are too tired to even hold out their hands for free stuff, so these NGOs end up putting in into their pockets for them, which doesn´t exactly inspire self-sufficiency on the part of Paraguayans. I digress...

So, it´s been great living alone. If I have nothing to do early in the morning, I sleep until I feel like getting up (usually not muich later than 7), I´ll do yoga in my garden, water my veggies, then sip maté or coffee on my front porch and watch my village come to life. I watch the uniformed students on their way to school, and I feel an odd nostalgia. It´s a nice feeling not to be going to school, but it all feels like that part of my life was left behind so quickly, and now I´m in a position where people not only respect my opinion, but call on me for advice, when sometimes I feel like I should just be a kid on my way to class.

It´s intimidating sometimes that people want answers from me about what they s hould do, what crops they should plant, who they should buy from and sell to. I´m here to open doors and provide opportunities, but, ultimately, they know better than I, and I´m hoping to instill that sense of empowerment while I´m here. The new big crop right now is stevia, which is native to Paraguay, though Japan has done most of the growing. Since the FDA approved Stevia to be used in American producs in December (and Europe is likely to do the same in June), the market for it is huge, and there simply aren´t enough farmers growing it to supply the demand. Stevia is a safe, healthy sugar substitue 200x sweeter than sugar that has been used in South America for ages, though there´s not a huge market for it here since sugarcane has taken over. But now, companies like Coca-Cola, Pepsi, and Cargail want in on it, not to mention smaller companies dedicated to making organic, healthier products, and supporting small farmers at the same time. It seems like a great opportunity for farmers here to get into, so I´ve been trying to organize some farmers in my community to try it out. Many Paraguayans have been disenchanted, though. In the past, ¨experts¨ have come and given farmers free or cheap seed, saying that there´s a high price for the crop, and then the price drops or the crop fails, and the farmer is left with nothing. This happened with sesame (last year China´s drought raised the price, but this year it´s back down), and before that, cotton. They´re slow to change, and understandably so.

It´s garden season now, so I planned a garden workshop series this week. Three evenings, and one morning, I had 12 women come over to my house (I invited men, too, but garden is really a feminine role here). Besides a small beekeeping presentation, this was the first time I´ve held a formal lecture. I´ve realized it´s a lot harder to speak Guarani in front of a group of people, but I´m really pleased with the way it all came together. Each day I started with an ice-breaker game that had a hidden message about compost, organic material, or somehow related to what I was talking about. Then I would give a talk, and then we would go into my garden, and I would demonstrate how to make a compost pile or a raised bed or apply homemade organic pesticides. It was fun, and it gave me a chance to show them that I have something to offer.

And just when my honey supply was getting low, I got word that a family had two hives, but no bee veil to harvest honey. I showed up the next morning with my gear. The Señora fed me polenta and cocido, and then the Señor donned an old potato sack, and we walked out to his bee boxes. The boxers were brimming with honey-filled panels, but the potato sack didn´t last long, so my partner was forced to flee, rolling on the ground, and running safety in the house, and I was lef to harvest the second box on my own. Though more difficult to manage the smoker, machete, and bucket by myself, I found it peaceful to be out there with just the hum of the bees. These were angry bees, though, and I got stung a couple of times through my clothing. The bucket was so heavy with the harvest, I couldn´t even carry it back myself. As payment, the family fed me lunch and sent me home with honey, bananas, oranges, and a puffy hand, whcih itched all night and expanded to my wrist, as well. I´ll never give it up, though.

You never know

So, I was enjoying cocktail hour on the balcony of my Asunción hotel room. My friend, David, and I were complaining about the lack of music choices in Paraguay, how the same songs are blasted from every radio as early as 4:30am, and how these songs are circulated for a looong time before they are considered exhausted. David then sees a group of five walking on the sidewalk below us, carrying what look like music stands and instrument cases. I yell down to them, asking where they´re going, and they reply with a question of their own: where are we from? Then they set their bags down and give us an impromptu acapela rendition of a beautiful American song. And then they left us both speechless. Sometimes you just never know.

Sevoi Oguatahina...Walking Onions

I recently heard a description of the way onions self propogate. They grow tall, flower, and start leaning with the weight of the sead heads until they touch the ground. In this way, onions walk around the garden. A few weeks ago I was given green onion transplants, which I placed on the borders of my garden as a natural pest control, and they've already doubled in size. Being in Paraguay is like living in a greenhouse. As long as plants have partial shade, they'll just shoot up. Many of my vegetable seeds germinated just three days after planting.

To step back a bit, the last time I wrote, I was about to begin Carnaval festivities. One of my Paraguayan sisters came into town with me, and I was going to stay in her casita, where she sleeps when she comes to study at the University in town. We dropped our stuff off at her house before wandering around the city shopping for dishes and furniture for my house that I hoped would be done by the time I returned. Then we put on our Carnaval finest and went out into the night to meet up with my friends. The whole night was a loud display of costumes, glitter, drums, and spuma, some foamy stuff that comes out of an aerosol can. Then we went dancing at a club with a real foam machine in the middle of dance floor, and I lost my phone to the foam gods. It was probably worth it.

So, I've finally moved into my house! The walls aren't finished, and I don't have real windows, but it's livable, and I'm happy! I've realized how burnt out I was getting living with families, visiting families, and never having my own head space or physical boundaries. Though it's taken a while to get here. When I got back to Carnaval, my house was in the same condition in which I had left it, and when I saw the guy in charge just sitting around, I asked him when it would be done. He replied that they were still lacking some materials. I walked away without saying anything. I walked all the way back to the fields and bawled my eyes out. My community contact, seeing that I was upset, immediately got on the phone and called all the guys in the committee over to bust ass on my house. And they did it. I was not pleased that it took tears to get it done, and it felt unprofessional of me, but I'm living here, too. And I'm only human.

It's been another adventure getting my furniture. I found a woman willing to sell my a stove for cheap, so my friend with an oxcart took me over to her house, and we loaded it on. I bought a fridge in the city, which I figured I could just haul on the bus with my matress, buckets, and everything else people bring on the bus. A guy showed up with my fridge bobbing on his horse and cart, and when five guys tried to load it onto the bus, it wouldn't fit. So, I sent it back to the store. Luckily, one of my neighbor's in my community has a truck in which he sometimes hauls crops to the market, so he agreed to pick up my fridge for me. Amidst all this running around in the city, I was looking forward to my friend, Travis, coming to visit me. Of course, he found me wandering around the streets.

So, the past week has been great. Travis has been staying with me, building me shelves and a wash table, and working in my garden with me. I'm finally able to cook for myself, and I have a fabulous food trade going on with four of my neighboring Senoras. I've been exerting most of my energy for my house, my garden and myself, which feels really good.

A few days ago, I returned to the family I stayed with during training. My group reunited for more language class, which has been great, both to have some structured learning and to really be able to see how much I've improved. Oh, and avacado season is in full swing. Shwang!

Chickens Snore, Too

My infatuation with my community, with the people, and with Paraguay, this week has given way to frustration. There´s no particular reason, or perhaps it is spurred on by my stomach hurting the past few days, though I recognize that I have not gotten a cold since I´ve been in Paraguay. I went to a neighboring almacen the other day to get some poha ñana (medicanal herbs). Just ask your local Señora! Everything this week has made me angrier faster--my house taking forever to build, the lack of work eithic of my socios, the constant questions, the lack of privacy. Granted, the family I´ve been staying with is really chill and even admires my independence. I may have set the precedent by staying out late the first night I moved there. I texted them to say I was at a birthday party and I´d be home later. They put a chair in front of the unlocked door, so I could get into the house. I feel like I´m in high school, and I´ve been granted later curfew.

In training, they warned us about the emotional rollercoaster. And it´s true. It´s been great to live with families that past couple months, but I´ve been feeling really ready to live on my own. There´s always something with my house. First I was told they had all the materials, then there´s no cement for the floor, then there´s not enough wood for the walls. Now they say Ikatu, it could be done on Monday. I hope so. The past two days have looked much more promising, though. The walls are up! I realize that they are building me a house for free and letting me live in it rent free, but it´s still frustrating that nothing is for sure, and I´m being constantly lied to. Many Paraguayans have no qualms with straight-up lying to my face if they think it´s what I want to hear. It drives me crazy. I just keep plying the workers with more nails, beer, banana bread, and promises of an inaugural feast.

I find myself getting used to daily life in my community. It feels almost normal, and sometimes I even forget I´m a foreigner, but there are always moments that bring me back to reality. The other day, I caught a ride on the carreta (ox and cart) with Kai Felipe, who was going to help me haul the branches I had cut the previous week to build my shade structure in my garden. (Vegetables won´t survive without shade here.) We stopped along the way to pick up an armoire and a bed frame to take down the road to a neighbor´s house. I got off to help unload the furnature, and while others carried the armoire, I was left standing in the middle of the dusty road holden a now-broken bed frame. A moto wizzed by me, and with the sun still beating down, it began to rain. Sometimes I laugh outloud, and the locals don´t know what´s so funny because I can´t quite explain how odd and amazing life here is.

There´s a chicken who snores outside my window. There´s one tree that seems to be the roosting favorite of the many chickens (and roosters) who live here. Sometimes I have to fall asleep to music just to drown out the whiny sound. At least it´s better than the roosters. If any one of the roosters within cockadoodling distance feels the need to let the world know he´s protecting his flock, he´ll set off a chain off alarms up and down the hillside. It reminds me of the dogs in 101 Dalmations, who pass along the message of the stolen puppies from the city to the country.

On a different animal note, I like to write in my journal at night, but it´s difficult for all the bugs attracted to my headlamp. I mean, HUGE bugs, and dragonflies, too. The other night, I saw a lightning bag for what it really is, without the light. I have such a romantic image of lightning bugs, but really they´re just ugly-looking beetles.

I started digging a trash pit in the backyard, and I´ve been helped my three young children, whose work was appreciated. We rotated two shovels between us, and it´s hot, hard work. What makes it harder is that there are no full-size shovels in this country. They are all the size of edging shovels. I had a little conversation with my neighbor about why I don´t want to burn my trash. I´d rather not put it in the earth either, but it´s the lesser evil. A while ago, I was talking to a farmer about his field practices, such as use of green manures and cover crops. He told me, ya, I use my trash as fertilizer and ground cover; I just throw it in my field. Except for the plastic--I burn that in the kitchen fire. I didn´t even know where to start. Starting the fire with plastic bags (which are plentiful here) is common practice.

But things are looking up. A neighbor invited me over the other night for wine and fish soup, which was delicious, though full of bones. Rather recently, a fish seller has been coming around on his moto once a week. The fish comes from a local river and is a refreshing change from the gross meat. I don´t even eat the meat anymore. I just can´t do it.

Yesterday, I hoed up a good chunk of my garden and planted some corn. It´s a local variety that´s used for animal feed. I´m hoping to get some chickens soon, and I want to have a way to feed them without relying on store-bought feed. When it gets a bit cooler, I´ll plant some peanuts and mandioca, as well. Lastnight, I went to bed, picturing my litte corn plants germinating up through the red dirt. And today I´m in the city to celebrate Carnaval!

A Roof Over My Head

Yesterday morning I learned how to peal the mandi´o, a task every girl knows how to do soon after she can walk and hold a knife. My host parents went into the city, leaving my seventeen-year-old host brother and the nine-year-old girl who lives with them (her mother works in Spain) in charge of household tasks, like taking care of the Americana. I´m not sure if I´ve yet desribed mandi´o, the stable crop of Paraguay, what humans and animals alike survive on. It is to Paraguay what the potato is (or was) to Ireland. It grows underground, much like a potato, can be left in the ground for two years, and doesn´t take many nutrients from the soil. Granted, it doesn´t supply many nutrients to the consumer either; just calories. No meal is complete without it. Suprizingly thought, as much as Paraguayans love their salt and sugar, mandi´o is served sans condiment. It´s tasty, though. It´s starchier than a potato and gives us that full full feeling that is so loved here, and is what I´ve sadly become accustomed to.

Anyhow, yesterday morning, the nine-year-old, Lorena, taught me how to take a knife to the big, brown root, liberally cutting off the ends and bad parts, which are fed to the pigs, and then peeling the touch skin. Instead of cutting towards myself, however, I took a different approach, cutting away from my body. I found a new way of doing a very Paraguayan task, which is kind of what´s it´s all about--my job, I mean.

And, hurray, my house has been started!! When I arrived on Monday, five guys were standing around where my house was supposed to be, talking about who knows how to build a house. I thought you guys knew how to build houses? We just don´t know the process is all, they reply. Luckily, the guy who does know showed up. To give them credit, I was impressed by how quickly they were able to put up the frame and roof in one day, though, granted, my house is pretty small. About an hour into building, half of it just fell down, and we all laughed and put it up again, hopefully stronger. Kai Felipe, the man with the plan, is seventy-something-years-old and always works with a cigarette dangling from his mouth. He was working on the roof frame, when the makeshift ladder he was standing on fell out from under him. He was left hanging onto the roof frame, from where he safely landed on the ground. It was a Three Stooges moment.

While we were on a terere break, the guys asked me if I was going to kill them some chickens as reward for their labor. I promised them that when my house was done, I would have a party and kill a few chickens. In the meantime, I bought a couple bottles of local wine, which we polished off at the end of the day.

I realized the other day that the way in which people go about accomplishing tasks here is different. It´s a communal way of thinking in which people work together to do almost everything, where relationships must be formed before the job is started. I had heard all this during training--the difference between the American, individualist way of thinking, and the developing world´s common-good way of thinking. Instead of spending their time on earning money for themselves (there´s no $ to earn anyway) they form commitees and groups to build another room on the school, start a health center, or get the local government to pay for a tractor to come and fix the roads. I don´t think things work this way because they do not desire personal gain, but they grow up depending upon each other as a community. Focus must be placed upon what the community as a whole needs.

La vida has been busy lately, without much time to spend on a computer. I had my site presentation last week, when my boss from Peace Corps comes to my village to officially present me to the community and explain why I´m here. I was surpized by the turnout--twenty-something of my neighbors came. After the presentation, I got a ride back into Asunción for the weekend. There were some meetings I had to attend, and it was the first time I got to meet up with my training group. And it was superbowl weekend, not that I´ve ever been excited about football, but the American in me was looking for some tradition. We lounged by the pool all weekend, took hot showers, and slept in AC. I almost forgot I was in Paraguay...and it was great. I was sitting on the bus in the Asunción terminal, waiting to leave the city, when my friend called me from the pool at the US Embassy. I made a quick decision, grabbed my stuff and got off the bus just before it left. And that pool was worth it.

On another note, and one I never thought I would say, Paraguayan food and music have actually been growing on me. The cheesy pop songs blasted on the radio are not just the same three songs over and over again, which I had previously thought, but a few different onces that I´m only just being able to recognize as distinctive. And all the same food I´ve been eating, I actually start to look forward to. Though it´s usually the same three ingredients that take on slightly different forms, but are all drenched in oil, I´m starting to appreciate it, and I´m even using my mandioca to slurp up extra grease. God, that sounds gross. I´m always amazed by how many old people there are here.

I would have thought that high cholesterol and diabetes would have put more of a hurting on these people, but maybe the daily exercize counteracts it. Soda, however, is probably a fairly recent addition to the diet. They down it like water here--babies are given soda in their bottles. In fact, water is rarely drinken, besides in terere. They make fun of me for always carrying my water bottle around. Drinking water, Chaco sandles, backpacks, and flossing distinguish me as an American.

I had not planned to come into the city, but I had been out of site at a meeting, and it poured all day, making it impossible to get back to site, so here I am. I coming to love that rainy days mean the world shuts down. Though, back home, that would mean nothing would happen eight months out of the year. Now it´s back to site to form a beekeeping group.