Hongsahína. Mba’epa jajapo va’era.

Today’s Entry: It’s getting chilly. What should we do?

I generally enjoy talking about the United States with Paraguayans. As noted in an earlier post, doing so is one of my three main responsibilities as a Peace Corps volunteer. One of the hardest aspects of American geography, and thus economy and culture, to communicate to many Paraguayans in Prettyview is the size and heterogeneity of my country. The weather report for Asunción is often slightly incorrect for my region, but not by much. Paraguay is roughly the size of California with a population of six million. There are certainly ecological gradients and regional distinctions, but it’s not uncommon for all of eastern Paraguay (where almost everyone lives) to simultaneously experience the same weather system. Thus, my answer to the very frequently asked question “what is the weather like in your country right now?” always begins, “pues…”

First of all, I try to explain that my family lives in the hottest, driest part of the country, resembling the Paraguayan Chaco but with a huge population, air conditioning, and fewer Mennonite colonies. I tell them that the extreme southeast is more like Paraguay in terms of its climate and that the northern reaches of the country are ro’yiterei – very cold. The many Paraguayans living in Argentina often see snow during the winter, so I can use that as a reference point to explain American snowstorms and “White Christmases.” I still don’t know if everyone quite believes me that a single country could contain so many different climates, and coasts on two oceans to boot.

And then there is the matter of the hemispheric reversal in seasons. I always say “just add six months to the date here and that is what it is like in the U.S. right now.” At least that is how it seems to me. Christmastime in Paraguay felt like Fourth of July in Arizona: barbeques, fireworks, and the possibility of heat stroke at 7:00 PM. Likewise, the smell of wood smoke in the crisp Paraguayan air at the end of June made me nostalgic, if not for the “holiday season,” then for my customary antagonism toward the holidays. “Humbug” doesn’t mean as much on June 25 as it does on December 25.

Paraguay does have a winter festival that calls to mind Christmas, Chanukah, and their pagan antecedents – all spawned in the global North. El Día de San Juan (San Juan Ára in Guaraní) falls on midwinter´s day, 24 June, although Prettyview celebrated it twice – once on the Saturday before at the escuela and once on the Saturday after at the colegio. I attended both nighttime celebrations, although I had to leave the latter early due to literal ants in my pants (I must have stepped on their nest on the way there). Even at a somewhat raucous festival, twitching around and swatting your crotch and behind is not recommended for already conspicuous foreigners. Especially when the central theme of the Day of St. John is…fire!

The San Juan celebrations were a little hard for me to understand, in part because explanations were often given at night in a big crowd and treated topics that were themselves, well, unusual. I understood the basics: traditional dancing shows performed by the little kids, moms selling freshly made, warm foods, and lots of standing around and talking, with the maté or caña (cane liquor) flowing depending on who was gathered together. I liked the food the most: empanadas, kavuré (chipa dough molded around a wooden dowel and cooked over a charcoal brazier), mbeju mestizo (a dry pancake made of corn flour and mandioca flour – thus “mestizo” – with cheese and oil and then flipped in the pan), and kocido. But my comprehension dwindled as the games and flames grew more intense. Apparently, many of the San Juan fire games are no longer practiced as they once were. But Prettyview still makes an attempt. The Juda Kai (Burnt Judas) is a mannequin representing Christ’s disloyal companion, with a cow skull as the head. The Juda Kai is set on fire and then…carried around? I couldn’t figure out the point of the game, other than the vague terror of watching a Georgia O’Keefe painting catch on fire and start running around. Pelota Tata (Fire Ball) is similarly themed – a soccer game that gets hotter than Shakira’s Waka Waka dance for the World Cup. There were also vague murmurs of fire walking, but I didn’t see any of it.

Other games didn’t entail setting anything on fire, but most did feature a prize. The kamba is a person wearing torn clothes and sometimes another skeletal cow head who runs around acting scary. Another game consists of a greased pole with a prize at the top, waiting for the mita’i who can scale the tower despite the lard. There were sack races and even a strange free-for-all that reminded me of a reverse piñata: a horde of kids used their hands to root around in the dirt for buried prizes.

I normally don’t like Paraguayan parties – in part because I try to avoid the caña and can never hear well enough to communicate adequately. But the San Juan festivals, like Independence Day and Semana Santa, were an important window into Paraguayan life and culture. And the atmosphere did remind me of American elementary school fall festivals – with parents and kids alike huddling together in the chilly evening to stay warm through food and games.

What else are we up to in Prettyview now that it is hongsa (chilly) to ro’y (cold)? Life hasn’t changed too terribly much; winter in Paraguay is like winter in Phoenix with more rain. The days are quite short, so field work and errands are generally completed between 6:30 and 5:00, a far cry from the 5:00 to 8:00 daylight of the summer. Most families still have to go to the fields, even though there is a relative lull in the agricultural calendar. It’s not safe to plant until the danger of frost passes and not much is ripening, other than oranges. Weeding is also less necessary since plants don’t grow quite so fast at this time of year. The mandioca shoots are usually already in storage for planting starting this month. But the daily consumption of mandioca and (for families with cows) sugar cane requires relatively frequent trips to the field. I’ve seen a lot of farmers repairing fences, doing other construction jobs, etc. during their down time. Washing and cleaning still march on, too, and I feel sorry for the unfortunate mothers and sisters who can’t wait, like I do, to do the laundry on warmer days.

I’ve heard that we may not see any more frost, which makes the Paraguayan winter seem about a month long. It was extremely cold in early July and I admit to lots of time spent añeñuahína (huddling under a blanket) and aka’ayhína (drinking maté, or ka´ay). It was raining, so I wasn’t the only one hiding in my home – people generally stay out of the rain, especially when the temperature is near freezing. My happiest times were spent at my neighbors’ house. Their oldest son was home from college for the winter break and, with the two oldest of his sisters and the eldest’s baby, we drank maté, rojepe’ekuri (huddled around a fire or a charcoal brazier [bracero de carbón]), watched telenovelas, and ate chipa guazu straight from the oven. One afternoon, we had sweet mate (ka’ay he’ee), which is made with milk instead of water and plenty of sugar or other sweetener. It’s delicious, although certainly not as healthful as unsweetened yerba teas.

While swilling my way to Type II Diabetes at the neighbors’, I discovered my new favorite telenovela: Soy Tu Dueña. This saucy and titillating epic is set in the (American?) Southwest, at a ranch called “Los Cáscabeles” (The Rattlesnakes). The ranch’s owner is an emotionally abusive but strikingly beautiful young woman, scarred by her former fiancé, who left her at the altar. I don’t know much else about the story since I’ve only watched two episodes, but I especially enjoyed the protagonist’s (antagonist’s?) fights with every other character. At one point, she slaped her own cousin in the face and evicted her from Los Cáscabeles, prompting the latter to stare at her in the eyes from about three inches away and scream “¡eres deMENte!” Later, the Dueña was bitten by, of course, a cáscabel (rattlesnake), and her muscular, good-natured neighbor arrived to suck the venom from her leg, wrap the wound in his shirt, and whisk her off on horseback to the puesto de salud. He was later slapped in the face for his trouble, although some flirtatious comments may have played a role in upsetting la Dueña. This is the kind of theatrics that makes the novela genre so vital. However, I only got a little taste of Dueña. The weather warmed up and I got back to work, much to my neighbors’ disappointment. I think they liked watching me react to all the slapping.

So with that, I’m sending all my best wishes from the Paraguayan winter. Bring your long underwear and guampa and you’re set until summer begins, allegedly, as in Arizona, a few days after the last frost.

Update: Since I initially wrote this, Spring started! It still gets chilly and the nighttime low recently dipped to 4° C, but the days are often warm enough for a t-shirt and shorts! I especially enjoy the smell of orange and lemon blossoms in the air. The sweet scent reminds me of the orange tree out by the patio at home and brightens my mood when I notice it. Meanwhile, Prettyview agricultores are playing a dangerous game, with some families risking a disastrous frost by planting tomatoes and mandioca.