Mba’eve’ikuéra

Today’s Post: Little Nothings (OK, I have never actually said or heard “mba’eve’ikuéra” but tranquilopa.)

I don’t really have a synthetic entry for today, so I think I’ll violate my normal rules of self-censorship and simply write about a few sundry details of life meant to charm and edify you, my readers.

1. More Firsts

For awhile, my journal was an account of my cultural deflowering. The major (first Guaraní words! first mandi’o!), banal (first tortilla paraguaya! first chigoe flea!), and disgusting (first time I crapped myself!) cohabitated across dozens of pages. I think that this portion of my diary will be interesting to me when I am in my forties and to my grandmother the minute she can get her hot little hands on it.

But more recently, I have adjusted to life in Paraguay and my journal has become much more quotidian, comprised largely of favorite quotes from books I read, my legion but rather unoriginal anxieties, declarations of various carnal sins (some involving pork asado), and hideous discourses on premodernity and globalization in the Paraguayan countryside. Grammy will likely find this portion of my diary gripping and even moving, but I doubt anybody else will.

In the spirit of those halcyon days of newness, however, I offer some recent Paraguayan “firsts,” perhaps all the more enjoyable because they were six or seven months in the offing:

First Tree Seeds Planted in Site: During training and my first months in site, I found myself falling further and further into what I call “deforestation red zone”: the state of having killed more trees in Paraguay than you’ve planted. Yes, many were killed while doing forest enrichment, thinning, and field cleaning, but then there were also the accidental fatalities as I learned to use a machete and the countless seedlings lost to my clumsiness as I traipse about the forest. So it was a hopeful step toward “the black” when, in April, I planted my first tree viveros with some neighbors. Keeping my fingers crossed that the seeds will germinate and the seedlings will make it through winter, I have visions of Jacobo’s lapachos someday providing a little shade in Eastern Paraguay.

First Movie: Watching a pirated copy of 300 with my host family in December does not count. What does count is my viewing, on a recent trip in to Asunción, of an English-language movie (the Meryl Streep/Alec Baldwin/Steve Martin romantic comedy about how sexy Meryl Streep is as a bourgeois cook [or that’s what I took away from it]). Squinting to ignore the Spanish subtitles in an honest-to-God movie theatre, I was back in the Apollo for a sweet two hours.

First Fine Art: Though a Paraguayan harpista did come to play for us in training, I had been sorely missing museums and concerts. Thus, it was a delight to see a sign, on the same trip to the capital, for an exhibition of Paraguayan painting from 1870-1940. The show was free, tiny, and staffed by a helpful if racist docent (she was fascinated by my Korean-American friend and colleague, Lauren). I enjoyed the paintings as much as the opportunity to walk around a real art exhibit.

First Mandioca Cooked in Home: It was only a matter of time. After I planted a tree vivero with a neighbor, she offered me manti’o. Though I normally turn it down with the excuse that it uses up a ton of gas if you don’t cook with fire (unspoken secondary excuse: I am trying to shed my mandioca belly), I was enticed by her promise of manti’o sa’uju (yellow mandioca). My neighbor proclaimed that it has a buttery taste and quick boiling time and I’m thrilled to say that my first private consumption of mandioca surpassed all of my expectations. I also felt very guapo skinning it into a polangana in my backyard.

First Poetry Read since Arriving: I found four volumes of Seamus Heaney in the Peace Corps library. Thank you, my sweet gyres of Irish poetics! It’s no Yeats, but I’m counting my blessings.

First Successful Citrus Grafts: My neighbors are not pleased that my success rate for orange grafting is around 20%, but I’m just glad it’s not 0. Nothing says “I didn’t totally fuck up” like unwrapping the plastic bag around a graft and seeing a little green bud looking back at you…even if it only happens one time out of 5.

First Carafe of Nescafé Consumed: After being so high and mighty about quitting coffee in training, I’ve fallen back to my old ways. Full of sin! After finishing the last of the Nestle, I switched to a container of “Belen” brand instant coffee for comparison’s safe, but that stuff is vai-vai! I’m going back to Nescafé agaite (en seguida).

2. Reality Check: The Seasons

As obvious as it is for me, I realized that some of my readers may not be aware that it’s almost winter here! Indeed, as I remind my host community almost every day, the North and South are offset by six months from one another. I arrived at the end of spring in 2009 and, having missed northern hemisphere winter, I’m overdue. I’m excited to finally see May through August in Paraguay, if only to ascertain whether or not, in Paraguay as well as the North, “April is the cruelest month.”

Really, the experience is reminiscent of winter in Arizona, with much more rain and no heating, of course. Many non-native trees (pear, Hovenia, Grevilea) are losing their leaves, but many of the Paraguayan natives don’t seem to do so (or at least not yet). The mornings and evenings are cool to quite chilly, and it usually doesn’t warm up until about 11:00 AM or so. The afternoon can still be warm or even muggy, reminding me a lot of visits to Florida. Very occasionally, when a non-trash fire is burning, I smell “fall in the air” like I would in the United States. It makes me nostalgic for the Arizona State Fair, apple cider at Gibson’s in Oberlin, and flannel.

The fall gardens that many of us are putting in are also reminiscent of the autumn gardens in Arizona (spinach, broccoli, lettuce, peas, onions) and other temperate climes. Oranges, lemons, mandarins, and grapefruits are also ripe here, which is certainly a difference. I appreciate the citrus juice especially since nothing passes around a fall cold like the maté bombilla. Ni modo.

I’m all set for winter, though. I’ve got my long underwear out of storage and washed the massive, synthetic blanket that my predecessor left behind. My electric kettle basically never runs empty and a neighbor even gave me a wooden guampa for mate. (The thin metal cup I use for tereré would be ill-suited for just-not-quite-boiling liquids). In terms of work, I’m trying to get going with winter green manures (lupine and black oats), harvesting lemon seeds to plant in the spring, and developing projects that I can do when it’s cold. I’m especially excited about teaching English, doing environmental film showings, and otherwise upping my educational activities. I’ve also heard that pruning is a good winter activities, so I may invest in a pruning saw (machetes don’t “cut it” for pruning, HAR HAR HAR).

And just remember, Arizona readers, that if you are tempted to feel jealous, that there’s no heating and insulation in the countryside, so it’s going to be a cold winter! I plan on frequently going to my neighbors’ houses to jepe’e (warm oneself by the fire; jepe’a means firewood!).

3. Arizona!?*

And speaking of my home state, please tell me that all the news articles I get in the mail are my mom’s idea of a dark joke! What is going on? My reaction runs from enraged (immigration law SB 1070) to disgusted (concealed weapons without a permit law) to baffled (“birther” bill). More than anything else, learning about the recent legalization of racial profiling and criminalization of a hard-working, legitimately American segment of our society makes me want to go home, if only so that I could join the protests. I only hope that these recent developments are productive of challenges to the constitutionality of such laws.

As much as serving in the Peace Corps has made me feel much prouder of my nationality and national heritage, I am disappointed to find myself defending my home state to other politically aware volunteers. I won’t say any more, though, since I don’t want my blog to turn into a forum for my political discourses, such as they are. And when I feel like everything has fallen to pieces in my absence, I look at the New York Times cutout on the wall below my shaving mirror. It shows Barak Obama signing the recent healthcare legislation into law, reminding me that, politically speaking, there will be something to go home to next year.

Well, this post has turned into a bit more than tidbits. Until next time, tapeho poraite! (Go well! or as my friend and colleague Brian likes to say: “Go with good!”)

*All opinions expressed in this blog are those of the author and do not reflect the opinions, policies, attitudes, predilections, or prejudices of the United States Government or the US Peace Corps.

Ñe’engakuéra Paraguaya*

Today´s Post: Paraguayan Sayings

In April, G-31 (my Peace Corps cohort) returned to our training communities near Guarambaré for in-service training, three days of language and technical training designed to assist us now that we have settled into our sites. It was a joy to see my host family again and I benefited from having another go in language class now that I have experience speaking Guaraní on a daily basis. The language teachers were, as usual, great.

One of my favorite units entailed practicing Paraguayan sayings. I found practicing Spanish refranes useful in high school; doing so can enable one to learn new words in a fun and culturally relevant context. Paraguayan dichos offer an extra twist. They are often in Spanish-Guaraní jopara (mixture) and thus require comfort with both languages. Many take the form of: “_____” said the “_____,” like these favorites of mine:

“Problema tapépe he’i pruebera.” =” There are problems in the road,” said the soothsayer.

“Jajatopata lata’ipe he’i la kavaju burrope.” = “See you later in the little can,” said the horse to the burro.

“A cada son sus gustos he’i kure jurugui okamby va’ekue.” = “To each his own,” said the one who kissed the pig.

“Eñemboi, eñemboi he’i oporo’uséva.” = “Take your clothes off, take your clothes off,” said the one who wanted to have sex.

“Ejehecha nde, he’i espejo vendeha.” = “Look at yourself,” said the mirror seller.

I’ll let you guess what the metaphorical meanings are. Other sayings and idioms don’t take the form. Here are some others I especially enjoyed:

“Bigote y problema solo nosotros lo creamos.” = Only we create mustaches and problems.

“Hendy kavaju resa,” “Ipo´i la piola,” y “Haku la yvy.” = The horse’s eyes are on fire, the rope is thinning, and the earth is hot (all of these mean the same thing).

“Ndaijaikuaái iro’ypa tea imbyry’ái.” = We don’t know whether we’re cold or hot.

“Jagua ruguaicha hory.” = Happy like a dog’s tail.

What do you think these sayings mean? And finally, one of our teachers taught us some dirty jokes. The foulest is simply not to be published on the internet. I will repeat another, however, which takes the form of a Cacique pun. Caciques are native Paraguayan Indians, and they (somewhat objectionably) show up in jokes like country yokels do in some American jokes. In the following joke, what you need to know is that, in Spanish, “Ámame” is a command meaning “love me” while in Guaraní, “Amáme” means “in the rain.” Here is the joke (in English, except for the pun):

“It’s raining very hard, so the Cacique and his Asunceña girlfriend are together in his house. She only wants to speak Spanish, but he doesn’t really understand it. During a moment of passion, she cries ‘Ámame!’ He promptly responds in Guaraní: ‘Nahániri, che rykuetama’ (‘No, I’ll get all wet!’).”

I laughed so hard when I heard that one, and have enjoyed retelling it since getting back to Prettyview.

Seven months into my time in Paraguay, my attitude toward Guaraní has really changed. When I received my assignment to Paraguay in February 2009, I was, frankly, a little frustrated about the language situation here. I felt that since I was already proficient in Spanish, it was a waste of time for me to go to a country where I would have to learn another language in scratch. Feeling unusually utilitarian, I thought to myself that it would be a waste of time to learn a language that isn’t really spoken anywhere outside of Paraguay. (My dad informs me that Guaraní did not make a list of the 130 most-spoken languages he saw.)

How differently do I feel now! Of course, it all has to do with where I am in the language-learning process. Though I’m far from fluent, I can now communicate pretty much whatever I want in Guaraní and get along in a one-on-one conversation with the Paraguayans I encounter normally. I still don’t really understand group conversations very well and have trouble tracking when Paraguayans communicate with each other. But my attitude is completely different. I now feel so lucky to have the opportunity to learn Guaraní. It’s a language unrelated to any other that I’ve encountered and understanding it has been a gratifying intellectual challenge. Learning Guaraní has challenged me to think differently about English, Spanish, and my own use of language. I would be ignorant of so many Guaraní-specific phenomena, like the jokes and sayings I’ve discussed; the names for many Paraguayan plants, animals, foods, and cultural artifacts; and many unique grammatical elements if I had never learned the language. And most of all, it’s an honor to speak to the people who share their world with me in their own language. More than almost anything I can do, I think it shows my goodwill and interest in Paraguayans beyond, well, my own utilitarian goals. Paraguayan’s faces often light up when they discover that I can speak Guaraní, and I think that doing so has made me a more effective extensionist, even when my speech is vai-vai (ugly-ugly).

My only worry is how strange my Spanish is going to be when I go home. What will American Spanish-speakers think when my Spanish is sprinkled with avei, che, nde, amoite, ko’ape, pora, vai, ikatu, kuehe, yvyramata, he, and heta (also, I, you, over there, right here, good, bad, to be able to, yesterday, tree, delicious, and lots) – the words that I most often accidentally use when trying to speak pure Spanish? And then there is the misuse of guapo and suppressing the “vos” form. Or re-learning genders after making everything feminine!

All I have to say is “E’a!” (Oh my!)

*Unfortunately, in this post and others, I’m portraying Guaraní words without nasal accents over vowels (there should be one over the second “e” in “Ñe’enga” for example). There is most certainly a way to make a computer display the accent, but I haven’t figured it out yet.

Che Róga Pyahu

Today´s Entry: My New Home

This entry is a little bit delayed. I actually moved out of my last host family’s home and began living on my own several months ago. However, I’ve been putting off writing about my permanent dwelling place in Prettyview for awhile. For those of you whom I don’t speak to on a regular basis, I will describe my little corner of Paraguay.

I rent my house from a family who lives about 10 minutes away. They often invite me over to lunch when I come to bring my rent money. The rent is affordable and, even with water and electricity bills, comes to less than $40 a month. I live in a house made of material, meaning brick with a plaster covering. It’s quite a step up from the wooden board or bare brick style of many homes in the Paraguayan countryside. The nicest aspect is that the only holes in the house are around the doors and windows – there are no open chinks in the walls for air to enter. The roof is also made of wooden planks with tiling (the norm is grass reinforced by a skeleton of bamboo) and only leaks a little in one place. My house’s construction is definitely chuchi (fancy). The inside and outside are painted pale green.

The house itself is a duplex, with both sides opening out onto a little tiled porch. I only live in one side of the house and use the other to store trash that I plan on reusing and other supplies that won’t suffer from dust and spider webs. The side I live in consists of two rooms. The front door opens into a small, tiled entry room, which itself leads into a very large main room with a rougher brick floor. I use the entry room to store some tools and supplies and also use it to bucket bathe (more on that later). The large room contains a big shelf (for food, kitchen supplies, books, clothes, and school supplies), a fridge, a borrowed table and three chairs, my bed (replete with mosquito net), and a gas stove. I also keep my bike, my collection of polanganas (plastic tubs) and valdes (buckets) and some tools in the main room for ease of use.

The main room and entry way have electric lights and there are a number of outdoor lights for security. The windows and doors are all secure and have many locks and crossbolts. All the windows have bars. My house is very safe!

My yard is huge! It contains a running water tap out front (again, lujoso) and a latrine in a nice little house out back. The backyard also contains a dirty well (maybe I’ll clean it), a trash-burning heap, many fruit trees, and a garden, which I built (see Episode 1 of Ñande Róga Paraguaya). I also have hung up a profusion of clotheslines to cope with my very un-Paraguayan tendency to only wash my clothes once a week.

So what do I do in my house? In some ways, living in it makes me feel like I’m back at “The Succulent Supple House of Delight” on East College Street, Oberlin. I make myself tasty foods and eat them while reading. I hide from my neighbors when I feel antisocial. I sleep. I garden. I study. I talk on the phone to other volunteers and my family. I write in my journal or compose letters. So really, life is not that different, until I hear the soft grunting of pigs tunneling into my garden and chase them with a machete.

Cooking is of course one of my greatest delights. The local despensa sells gas tanks, and one I started using on 1 February has yet to go out. I also own a hot water kettle, thanks to the previous volunteer. This is the handiest device; I often warm water with it so that I don’t have to use of my gas waiting for water to boil. What kinds of foods do I eat? Right now, a survey of my shelves and fridge turns up, among other things: flour, salt, sugar, spices, oatmeal, ground peanuts, rice, pasta (fideos), textured vegetable protein (carne de soja), plenty of yerba (ka’a), vegetable oil, eggs, cabbage, black beans, popcorn (pororo), apples, soy sauce, vinegar, onions, garlic, peanut butter (from my trips to the capital),instant coffee, and milk. Often, I buy peppers, tomatoes, carrots, pears, pineapples, bananas, and other fruits and veggies from San Juan Nepomuceno. Twice I’ve eaten meat others gave me to take home, but otherwise, la casa de Jacobo is vegetarian. I wash my dishes in two polanganas out by the tap. Some of my best culinary feats have been cakes (I am growing famous for this in Prettyview; people love cakes but seem to believe that they can’t make them), biscuits, homemade bread, curries, tomato sauces, and, using my blender, Jake’s Fiber Smoothie (applies, pears, carrots, raw oats – make sure you’ve stocked up on toilet paper before hand).

I wash my clothes in polanganas pope (by hand). Paraguayan amas de casa (housewives) universally and indirectly disapprove of my methods (“Does that work?” or “You certainly are fast.”), but here they are: leave clothes and detergent soaking in a polangana in the sun to warm the water up. Then sit on a low chair and scrub. Hold the cloth by curling in the fingers on your right hand and use gravity to spread the garment across your wrist, they grasp with your left hand and make rub the cloth laterally from your cuticles down your forearm and back. Tougher stains may require a brush, jabón común (I hate this stuff because it never rinses out), or the inexplicable (to me) method of beating the clothes against a hard surface as if you were the Swedish Chef. Pay special attention to collars, armpits, crotches, cuffs, and “accidents” caused by tereré-transmitted stomach ailments. Then rinse two to six hundred times to get the detergent out and dry on the line. A normal week’s work of clothes takes about three to four hours to wash and put out to dry. I don’t mind washing clothes that much, but I regularly have cause to thank Dan L., the friend who convinced me to bring my iPod to Paraguay. Washing clothes by hand is much easier (and more ironic!) when I’m joined by mellow Gillian Welch, trippy Sufjan Stevens, or revenant ABBA.

I bathe by standing in a big polangana (noticing a trend here?) and ladling water from a valde over myself using a metal mug. Though not as sensuous and fortifying as the showers of my American life, this method does get me clean. Importantly, I can easily heat up a kettle or two of water in the electric kettle to have a warm or even scalding bucket bath (che gustahaicha, “however I like it”)! My entry room is tiled, so I just sweep water out onto the porch when I’m done.

Here are some pictures of my delightful Paraguayan home. Yes it’s a little off the beaten path, but if you come to visit, I will make you a “famous” Jake Cake and even scrub the dust of the ruta off your feet while you sip tereré or maté. Until then, that’s the news from Jacobo Róga.

Jacobo at Home

The view from my yard: the Escuela Básica and Personal tower
Shower Time!
My garden, post pigs. They don´t like green onions.
My garden fence and improvised ¨gate.¨
I know some of you are curious...
The view from my back door
My bed
The fridge - see any familiar items?
The shelf and fridge
The kitchen
Backyard clothesline
Looking in from the backyard
Looking in from the frontyard
For starting seedlings
My faucet
Close-up of the front porch
Frontyard Clothesline