Se fue...

A few months back, two Peace Corps technical trainers stopped by our little house in the South while surveying locations for future training activities. As Americans who have lived in Paraguay for ten and thirty years, respectively, they both offer unique perspective into the cultural differences between our two countries. Over dinner, Kevin and I enjoyed their insight.

For example, in Paraguay greeting people involves a sort of ritual. Women meeting other women press cheeks on each side and make a kissing sound. Women greeting men guide the introduction and choose either the same kiss shared with the ladies or a handshake. Men greeting men shake hands, sometimes gripping the opposite shoulder with the free hand. Men rarely kiss each other. At this point in the conversation, Kevin mentioned that our host father always kisses him. Jon smiled and replied, “That means he actually considers you his son.”

We didn’t need another person to point this out to us.

In Peace Corps Paraguay volunteers live with host families during their first six months in country. Especially during training, our host families often regard us as confused baby birds, a little lost and incapable of fending for ourselves. Although in many departments this assessment hit spot on, in other ways it got tiresome. I knew this constant scrutiny came from a loving--and initially helpful--place. (Even the most common daily tasks, when placed in a Paraguayan context, required re-learning.) I, though, couldn’t wait to cook for myself, walk a block alone, or self-supervise my ironing.

I started thinking about moving into our own place as soon as we stepped foot in site. As much as I deeply appreciated these folks opening their home to us, I still found myself in desperate need for some alone time. Many volunteers form deep bonds with their Paraguayan families, others keep them at arms’ length. As I had little desire to relive the critique of my teenage years for the now third time, I expected to fall into the later category. I already had a mother and she stopped nagging me about a decade ago. Lucky for me, I didn’t have an option in this particular situation.

Nelly (aka Mitad) and Felipe, their adult children, and extended family took us in and never gave us the chance to say no. They included us in everything and introduced us as family members from day one. When it came time for us to move into our our house, Mitad stopped by every day--and never empty handed. Felipe helped us hang our mosquito net and made sure we had a safe, hot shower--rewiring the whole operation before we could even ask. They made us feel like one of their own.


August 7th, we lost Felipe. He never regained consciousness after the stroke that befell him two weeks previous. Before that, he hadn’t had so much as a cold in six years.

While Mitad took control of making sure I ate enough, spoke minimal English, and scolded me for letting my husband do any housework, Felipe maintained a more quiet, reassuring presence. Whenever I prepared American food, he always took seconds. He never pushed me or criticized my Spanish. He had the best giggle.

We giggled over the reappearance of lettuce on the dinner table after months of summer drought. (Felipe maintained a beautiful--and impressive--vegetable garden behind the house.) We giggled when we overheard the kids curse or make smart aleck comments. We giggled the hardest the day after Carnaval when he asked me--with a straight face--if I saw lots of “colas afuera” (tails out).

The last time I saw Felipe, I kissed him on the cheek and told him I’d see him tomorrow. I have no idea if he knew how much Kevin and I cared for him. His love, though, was never in doubt.

Felipe loved his children and grandchildren deeply. For last year’s first day of spring parade, he outfitted a big wheel with a refrigerator box creating “The Candy Train.”

Tanto Tiempo

Deep down, I knew I would not avoid this moment. I hemmed and hawed and even put in precautionary measures, yet in the face of a litany of promises made to myself, I have arrived at the inevitable. Despite my best efforts towards the contrary, I have little alternative but to lead off this installment of “Rate of Exchange” with one hateful phrase: tanto tiempo, aka long time no talk.

There comes a time when nearly every Peace Corps Volunteer with a blog starts to neglect posting--and often at about the same point in our service. In fact, in our Welcome Book, Peace Corps advises us to warn our friends and families that a normal lapse in communication often comes around the nine-month-in-site mark. Our projects pick up, we get busy, and we settle in. Somehow things start to seem normal.

With the ability to adapt written into our DNA, humans can eventually acclimate to most any situation. Last October’s hassles now register as standard operating procedure and once odd sites seen enough times stop making an impression. No longer fazed by things that felt so strange a matter of months ago, these days I don’t really have anything to write home about. Nothing has changed, except me.

The Peace Corps’ adeptness in predicting these personal changes continues to surprise me throughout our service. During our first few months in country, our trainers spent a lot of time talking about the “Emotional Roller Coaster” that follows every volunteer. This timeline maps out two years worth of high and low points, often to the month.  Like many of my new colleagues, I found the idea ludicrous that a prophetic piece of charla paper knew my reaction to situations so far in advance. How could a stranger predict that in mid-January of 2012 I’d probably feel a little frustrated or that September of 2011 my life would fill with wonder and excitement?

Startlingly, their formula preaches the truth--and evidently applies to Peace Corps volunteers worldwide, regardless of assignment. Just within Paraguay, our sites, jobs, backgrounds, beliefs, and ages vary greatly. And yet this crystal ball works in each region where volunteers serve. How?

As a devoted reader of worldwide Peace Corps blogs, I’ve come upon countless entries starting off, “You know you’re in...” or “Only in...”  Funny thing, though, I can relate to most of the incidents on these top ten lists. Very rarely do any of the things/moments/attitudes listed occur exclusively within the Peace Corps post in question. Down here, in the heart of South America, I regularly find myself annoyed/tickled/flabbergasted by incidents supposedly unique to the Peace Corps South Pacific experience.

So, then, where lies the commonality? Do the countries where Peace Corps serves bear such a striking resemblance that their corresponding volunteers parallel each others' experience? Does development work look the same no matter where it happens?

Yet these countries do not look the same nor do their citizens act the same. More likely, it’s us. Our humanity unites every person on the planet, but could our American lens impact the way we react to life? As much as the United States stresses the contribution of the individual--encouraging the unique and rewarding those who have made themselves distinct from their peers--our American-ness links us. Regardless if we’ve spent our lives embracing or rejecting these values, they make up the core of our personalities. This shared upbringing resonates as we develop impressions of new cultures.

Travel and spending time with people from different places often teaches us that we have more in common than not. I’ve never felt more “American” than I do now, living in Paraguay. After years of training pushing me to set myself apart, perhaps this time away will show me that I have a lot more in common with my neighbors back home too.

In spite of the universality of the Peace Corps experience, we still have rare moments. For example, I don’t know another volunteer whose neighbor’s pet carpincho wears a child’s tank top on cold days and is best friends with a giant (and over-protective) dog.

Someday, I’ll Hug a Tiger or Another Friday the 13th Passes Without Incident

Joanna and Sultan.

Some weeks, nothing happens. Days pass by and we go about our business without anything of note transpiring. Upon developing a comfortable routine of leadership activities and youth group meetings, sometimes things get a little boring. This week, although very busy, I felt like climbing the walls. Not every week falls into this category, however. Two Thursdays ago I met a tiger.

Those who know me, know that I have a bit of a things for cats. Big cats, small cats, I like them all the same. Few things melt my heart like an expressive meow, make me giggle like a silly, sleepy pose, or inspire me to gush compliments like a good feline full-body stretch. As such, I could hardly believe my luck when I learned that an actual tiger had taken residence in my town.

The big sell...

... and the real deal wearing a dog collar.

That afternoon Kevin and I altered our walk home from the local high school so I could take a peak at the traveling circus setting up shop in our town’s center. Already an odd morning, our charla on values and self-esteem resulted in one girl punching another in the face. Still trying to determine where asking the kids to rank things like “getting good grades” and “getting married” went so far off the rails, Kevin generously humored me with a detour to the soccer field across the street from the elementary school.

While taking in the extravagant signage, a friend stepped out from behind a rapidly emptying semi-truck trailer. Motioning towards an advertisement, I asked her if she thought they would really have a tiger. Much to my delight, she replied, “Yes. She’s over there.” And by over there, she meant unsupervised just beyond an open gate. A six month old beauty sat all by herself in a patch of freshly cut grass, enjoying the light breeze in her fur. Someone hooked her collar into a thick chain-link lead attached to a stake pounded into the red dirt--a rusty tiger version of something you’d put a dog on--probably more for human comfort than actual security.

Important tiger alone-time.

My dream to hold a big cat in my arms before me, I stepped forward. Only common sense, already in short supply, kept me from scratching behind her giant ears. So badly I wanted to reach over, throw my arm around her giant neck, and walk her down to the beach. Tigers love water! Surely this field trip would cement our future friendship. My plan hinged on determining this cat’s tranquilo-ness.

Famous for its laid-back attitude, a relaxed way extends beyond the people of Paraguay to its animals as well. Dogs often bark without bothering to get up and enjoy napping in the middle of the street. I’ve never see a horse in my town run. But do Paraguayan tigers take the same philosophy?

Becoming fast friends.

In the end, I decided to hedge my bets on the tranquilo-ness of the tiger’s trainer (who when he finally joined the three of us, mostly just yanked on Sultan’s tail), and decided not to push my luck. I couldn’t stay away, though. Over the course of her three days in town, I visited her at least eight times. Every time I approached her, I played out the conversation with the Peace Corps Medical Office first... “Mary, does my rabies vaccination cover tiger bites?” “Mary, I briefly lost consciousness while trying to hug a tiger. Do they have the equipment to assess a concussion in Encarn or do I need to come up to Asuncion?” “Mary, I cut my leg open tripping over a tiger’s leash. My tetanus shot is up to date, right?”

I'm not sure if Sultan was more annoyed by this kid blowing in her face or introducing her as "Tigresa".

For all my devotion, though, when the time came to see my girl in the spotlight, I missed the show. In a year of record drought, the rain finally came the night we planned to take in the big top extravaganza after English class. Somehow, attending a Paraguayan circus featuring a tiger who’d spent the day having her tail pulled during a thunder and lightening storm on Friday the Thirteenth seemed like one strike too many.

Hopefully next year she’ll remember me and maybe then she’ll have a little free time for the beach.

Artist's depiction.