Living the American Dream

The Río Paraná, from the front of our house.

Although a common mission runs throughout the Peace Corps, most posts operate a little differently from each other. In some countries, Peace Corps volunteers move into their own home the day they step foot in site. In other countries, volunteers live with host families for the entirety of their service. 

In Paraguay, volunteers live with a host family for training and then during their first three months in site. This gives the volunteer an automatic support network while they get acclimated to the community.  Some volunteers hop from one family to another in an effort to meet more people by staying with each for a few weeks. Other volunteers stay with the same family for six months, a year, and beyond.

In special circumstances, occasionally volunteers move into their own places sooner then others. For example, the other married couple in our G moved into their own place after only about a week in town. Among other issues, their host family’s pig kept getting into their luggage and leaving snout marks on their belongings.

After a mere five and a half years of marriage, Kevin and I have reached the American dream: a house in the suburbs. Granted, our suburb lies in southern Paraguay, but with four walls and a lawn it still counts.

From the moment we first starting talking about the Peace Corps, I knew that service would test me. I anticipated cold showers, bugs, and weird food. I expected the 5,000 miles separating me from my family and friends to make me ache. I assumed roosters would bother me while I tried to sleep. Peace Corps includes hardship in the deal. Never, though, in my many Peace Corps daydreams (or alternatively worst case scenario nightmares) did I expect to run into trouble finding a place to live.

In Paraguay, most children do not rush to leave the nest. Host families often do not understand why volunteers (single and married alike) desire independent accommodations. Here, multiple generations of the same family often live together under a shared roof. Getting married does not automatically mean a child will move out. More commonly, a spouse will move in. Most parents do not see their children as adults (and thus having the responsibilities of adults) until they reach their 30s- even if they have their own children. A lack of children (especially upon reaching 30) implies a lack of knowledge in all things domestic. Accordingly, if someone does not know how to take care of a house, they certainly do not need their own.

The delicate dance of finding our own home began with getting our host family on board. In this case, a little white lie did the trick. (The ubiquitous “Peace Corps makes us” also helps volunteers put up mosquito nets without offense and stay off of motorcycles.) Begrudgingly, our host mom accepted and we started the hunt. Naturally, she suggested the overpriced place directly across the street. Our contact, had leads on a few other places in different parts of town. Each one fell through at the last minute. (And the one that didn’t had no windows.)

Home, sweet home.

 

With every false lead, our contact would say “don’t worry, we’ve got plenty of time” and push my blood pressure up a few points. Finally, in true Paraguayan style, a nearly perfect option surfaced in the eleventh hour. Even our host mom, who announced throughout town that “Peace Corps is stupid and crazy” for forcing us to move out, approved.

We have shared living room and bedroom space, a modern bathroom, an over-sized covered patio, and an additional bedroom. Behind the house oranges, mangoes, grapefruits, orange limes, and grapes grow in the sprawling lawn. We even have two cats in the yard- although one struts around like a real jerk and the other apparently is in heat. (Developments on this to follow.)

We live about two kilometers from the main route, two blocks from the beach, and, not surprisingly, two houses down from our host family. To keep us from starving, our host mom visits daily and never empty handed. Slowly, she has started to believe that I know how to cook and clean after all. At about the same pace of acceptance, I have started looking forward to her visits.

Back in the saddle again.

Our backyard, cats unavailable for photo.

Who needs a medicine cabinet when you have a bidet?

How to Fight with Your Mother in Paraguay or A Guide to Indirect Communication

As a nation, Paraguay engages in a lot of indirect communication.  Of course, when speaking in generalizations regarding an entire country, exceptions occur (er, certain radical terrorist organizations, for example).  However, if the Emily Post Institute ever decides to publish an edition of her rules regarding proper etiquette and social behavior for Paraguayan audiences, page one will read: never confront anyone about anything or offer a clear opinion any topic (except soccer).

As the type of person who has, on at least one occasion, “told it like it is,” this particular social adjustment required a delicate hand.  I work best when all the cards are on the table.  When I have the opportunity to obsess about a situation, I will take it.  If I receive unclear feedback, believe me, I will concoct the worst case scenario in my head and assume that I have offended everyone.  How will I ever adjust to a place where straight answers have gone the way of the dinosaurs?

As it turns out, this lifestyle has a few perks.  Awkward situations rarely arise.  In fact, the word doesn’t even directly translate.  One night, while sitting around with a handful of former Spanish majors and a few native speakers, we realized that the term awkward does not exist within the Spanish language.  Strange, difficult, uncomfortable, embarrassment (extraño, difícil, incómodo, verguenza)- these all make the list.  Yet nothing quite captures awkward.

Think of the possibilities.  You never have to say no to an invitation again.  Don’t feel like going to yet another birthday party on a Tuesday night?  No need to worry about hurting someone’s feeling with a firm “no”, when “sure” or “maybe” will do the trick just fine.  This may seem troublesome to the one throwing the party, but Paraguay has this figured out too.  Always assume, regardless of response, that one third of those invited to an event, will attend the event.  Simple.

Organizational non-confrontation works great during actual arguments as well.  For example, earlier this week I decided to start a fight with my home-stay mother.  She enjoys bossing me around and, upon crossing an invisible line over the weekend, I decided my foot needed to come down.  She knew she crossed the line as soon as her pinky toe creeped over it, but I made the issue known.  For our battlefield, I chose the always risky dinner table.

Paraguayan mothers feed their guests with the force of ten Italian grandmothers.  Making it away from any meal before hitting 1500 calories demands carefully timed eating and precision guilt navigation.  Rarely will you have the option to walk away from seconds without deep interrogation.  For a while, I said yes to extra helpings in the interest of avoiding an argument.  With time, I learned how to eat just slow enough as to not attract attention, but to still finish after everyone else.  Thus, confusing the option for seconds as others have already left the table.  This time, however, I had no intention of carefully navigating anything.

During lunch, as I finished my last few bites and placed my fork on the edge of my plate, my “mom” offered me seconds.  I looked her straight in the eye and said “no, thank you.”  She, upon realizing the dogfight in front of her, she accepted the challenge by giving me “the look” and sitting down.  (All Paraguayan women of a particular age know and regularly employ “the look”.  Imagine the most disappointed look you’ve ever received from your own mother.  Now double it.  Now add a flash of rage.  Now hold it for at least seven seconds.  That’s “the look”.) 

We’ve gone on like this for three whole days.  Neither one of us has any intention of discussing the issue and every other exchange we share seems perfectly normal.  Despite all this passive aggression, somehow our differences have started to work themselves out in silence.  I think the argument has begun to break.  Tonight, as I declined a second helping of dinner, she looked me straight in the eye and asked, “But wasn’t it delicious?”  This must mean I won.