Shark Bait

In sifting through the advice, thoughts, opinions, and general ramblings of dozens of current (and therefore experienced) PCVs over the past ten weeks, there was one particular nugget that continuously presented itself: in Peace Corps Paraguay, the two-plus months of in-country training varies significantly from the two years of actual service that follows.  Without exception, everyone was sure to mention just how much life changes after officially swearing-in.  In fact, I had begun to get the impression that training is akin to wading in the shallow end of your average-sized puddle, lifeguards on hand, whereas the actual service is more reminiscent of capsizing hundreds of knots off the Atlantic coast as a fleet of Guaraní-speaking sharks thrash around you in the frigid, yerba-steeped waters.

How accurate that analogy is probably varies from person to person, from site to site.  For me, just three weeks in, I’ve noticed the stark contrast between the two lifestyles but it hasn’t felt quite so perilous.  I’m no longer accompanied by Americans who can help me navigate through the trickier language barriers or shoulder some of the awkwardness that seems to burden us during every conceivable social situation.  I no longer have classes meticulously scheduled and organized for me six days a week, which means now I have to teach myself to create and fill my own schedule from scratch everyday.  During training, I was often wondering how to slow down the heavy, persistent momentum of the daily grind.  Over the past three weeks, by contrast, there have been plenty of days where it’s been tough to keep any momentum going at all.  The positive feeling I have after accomplishing something productive from 9-10am quickly disappears by 11 when I think to myself, “Well, dammit, what am I supposed to do for the remaining seven hours of daylight?”

The answer, so far, has been to try and meet people.  To introduce myself to the community and make things happen as organically as possible.  As I mentioned, nothing about the last three weeks has felt as terrifying as the thought of being surrounded by bloodthirsty sharks.  Granted, there’s been plenty of moments when I’ve felt lost out at sea, but instead of shark-infested waters I feel like I’m surrounded by schools of friendly, curious fish who just want to get a look at the bizarre americano flailing about the surface.  “Slow down for a second, tranquilo,” they’re probably saying, “Maybe you’ll float along fine if you just stopped kicking so haphazardly and paddling so awkwardly.  Watch us swim and try it the way we do.”

I imagine this is what they’re saying, at least, but who the hell really knows.  They might be harmless fish, but they’re still Guaraní-speaking fish. 

School´s Out

Originally written 26 April 2012

Training is over. Last Friday (4/20) I officially swore-in as a Peace Corps Volunteer and on Tuesday (4/24) I moved to the Paraguayan community where I will be living and working for the next two years.

“So, Chris,” you might wonder, “surely you must have learned a ton over the past ten weeks of training.  Please, enlighten us.  Tell us all about these new and wonderful things you know.”

Well, then, where should I begin?

I have learned that if you are informed something is happening “en seguida,” it can mean any time between “right this very moment” and “never.”  I have also learned that this ambiguous phrase is incredibly frustrating when told to you,but incredibly convenient when you’re telling it to somebody else.

I have learned how to say “there are little black kittens” in Guaraní.  However, I cannot successfully construct any other complete sentence that is neither a personal statement nor a direct question.

I have learned that even if the bathroom door is unlocked, the lights are off, and nobody is responding to your knocks, there is still a solid chance that it’s occupied.

I have learned to value broccoli over beef.

I have learned to stop translating every transaction into “how many dollars does this cost?” and to start thinking in terms of “how many bus fares does this equal?”

I have learned that the concept of “adult learning techniques” entails a shocking amount of drawing and coloring.  I have yet to learn why.

I have learned that the single most reliable way to successfully break prolonged awkward silence in Paraguay is the following equation: “Rico es” +“X” (Where X stands for any possible food you can think of regardless of how delicious it actually is).  Not only will everyone around you speak up to agree, but they’re bound to begin mentioning a lot of other rico foods that you can consequently agree with as well.

I have learned that, in the 21^st century, it is actually possible to survive two and a half months without a cell phone and I hope I never, ever have to try to again.

I have learned how to drink boiling tea through a scalding metal straw.

I have learned that for as naturally pretty as the mandioca plant is, its edible root is doing it absolutely no justice.

I have learned that for as naturally pretty as the mango tree is, its edible fruit is doing a serviceable job.

I have learned that I absolutely cannot distinguish the pronunciations of the letters y and ŷ in Guaraní, no matter how many hours a native speaker spends trying to teach me.

I have learned that the strangely addictive result of baking corn flour, cheese and lard is called chipa and that it alone can sustain you during the five days leading up to Easter.  I’m under the impression that Jesus would be proud of me for this, but I never learned exactly why.

I have learned that while being guapo/hard-working is one of the personal characteristics most highly valued by Paraguayans and Americans alike, the two have very distinct and different ways of defining it.  However, I think I’ve learned that taking initiative is at the core of both culture’s definitions.

Despite ten weeks of densely packed training, I have learned that I still have no real idea what anything over the next two years will actually be like, with two obvious exceptions:

1)  I have learned that there is an awesome collection of Americans scattered throughout Paraguay that I get to refer to as mis compañeros.

2)   I have learned that there is at least one incredibly generous, super linda Paraguayan family that has my back no matter what.