Si Dios Quiere

Thanks to a few too many years of dictatorship in the 20th century, the Paraguayan culture is steeped in apathy, indecision and acquiescence like a vanilla hazelnut tea bag that went from bitter to sweet after you forgot to take it out of the cup. On the brightside, that also means the people are incredibly accommodating and really... down for whatever. Nobody seems to mind if a vegetarian, white girl moves into their house for a month and requires a daily menu change because she doesn't like eating meat or fried food. No problem- they'll just eat stuff they don't like for a month. "Ndai pori problema." --There is no problem.-- Or is there a problem? Because I can't seem to make any concrete plans for the future that don't depend on the ever-changing, enigmatic will of The Almighty.

When planning on seeing people later, you better plan on not seeing them too. It just depends on what God wants. Si Dios quiere, literally translates to, "If Gods wants it," and it's one of the most frequently used terms in the culture in addition to "Ndai pori problema," and "Igual, no mas," --It's just the same, or, It doesn't matter. Each time a conversation dwindles down to, "Well, see you tomorrow," or, "Okay, we'll meet Wednesday, then...?", the inevitable response comes that, while you may be set on your future appointment, it just won't happen if God doesn't want it to. Sometimes, bafflingly, conversations go something like this:

"So you're going to fix the well next week? Is it broken?"
"Yes, it's infested. We don't have any water."
"Who is going to fix it?"
"My brother, if God wants it."

And the running aside in my head which is both exhausting and keeps me sane in the most Paraguayan of situations, goes something like this:

"If you want the goddamn water, make your brother fix the well!!"

But in reality, we really can't control any of the billion factors outside of our own personal, nearly non-existent realms of ascendancy and this is a fact that the American culture tries fervently to deny. You can accomplish anything if you just try hard enough. Well, I kind of believe that when in any of the 48 contiguous United States (Hawaii and Alaska are questionable), but here, in this third-world sub-tropical semi-paradise the idea that just trying harder will give you a better result comes across as a Polly Anna solution for a complicated culturally-ingrained roadblock. Sure, I want to fix my well so my kids can drink water again and I can wash the red dirt off their little Paraguayan faces, but what if that dude who's supposed to do it never shows up? I don't know how to fix wells. I might have learned to do it in school if I had finished school but I seem to remember my Dad loosing his arm and my Mom having 12 kids due to a lack of contraception and women's empowerment so I had to quit school when I was 11 to start working in the fields and bring my family more money. How am I? I'm so good!! No problems!! There are no problems here and life is good!!

Yet, in spite of the inability to commit due to constantly unreliable circumstances, the morale in this country is high. People are aware that their culture is abajo, or low, but they have food in their stomachs and their family is healthy. Or if their family isn't healthy, that's the way it is so why complain? Life is life. Maybe it's a mindset caused by Stroessner and his oppressive 35-year rein as a corrupt dictator, imparting poverty and ignorance on a population full of possibility and potential, but it's a mindset that will not change any time soon. And so instead of raging against the helplessness of, "Si Dios quiere," tal vez it's better to admit, at least a wee little bit, that we really do only have partial control of our own futures; we are only partially in charge of our own fates. Thinking that, I leave you with the juxtaposition of two very wise, very influential poems. Paraguayans are only familiar with one: Guess which.

Invictus, by William Ernst Henley

OUT of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.
In the fell clutch of circumstance	5
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.
Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,	10
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.
It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:	15
I am the captain of my soul.

The Serenity Prayer, Reinhold Neibuhr

God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, 

Courage to change the things I can,

And the wisdom to know the difference.

Chasing the Doctorita

Every Monday and Wednesday I walk down to the puesto de salud- the health post. The puesto is a reverted two-bedroom house that provides free medical care to about 2,500 people. Staffed by one doctor (two days a week), three nurses (five days a week) and a tecnico (kind of like a nurse's assistant in the US), the puesto handles everything from prenatal check-ups to, "Oops, looks like I shot myself." My town is lucky enough to have the regional hospital less than 4k away but the wait is long, up to 7 or 8 hours, and the care is impersonal and hurried. Thus, gunshots, bunyons, preggos and all report to the puesto. 


The doctor that works at our puesto is the only one in the area and ultimately provides basic care to somewhere between 2,500 - 7,000 people from Monday - Thursday. She is 26, tiny and kind of moves around like a cyclone, asking the patients their names 5 times in a 10 minute visit. She studied in Cuba and speaks some basic English and is known to the people around here as the 'doctorita' - The Little Doctor. And me? I now go by, la doctorita's ayundantita- the little doctor's littler helper.

While I'm still trying to focus on helping the community, well, uh... I can't deny that I'm sucking up these one-on-one medical classes conducted in Spanish- sucking them dry. I didn't think I would be doing much job shadowing in the Peace Corps but if it lands in my lap with a resounding, HOLA!, what am I supposed to do?

And so, my recent activities include getting to know my community (still), planning classes with the professors and directors, working with the youth group to do STI-awareness activities and hanging out with my doctorita on Mondays and Wednesdays. Soon we'll start planning town meetings for specific subjects like : Tips for New Mothers, Managing your High Blood Pressure/Diabetes and Healthier Cooking Techniques. Though unfortunately, we won't be doing any of that until it stops being so cold outside. It turns out people stop leaving their houses/going to school when the cold sets in. And it has set in!

Two nights ago the temperature got down to 0 C and we had a frost in the morning. This might be a refreshing change from the sweltering heat if it weren't for the lack of insulation, HVAC systems, windows, doors, etc. Generally, the temperature is lower inside the houses than it is outside, especially if the sun is out, leaving you to see your breath while you take a shower and relieving that wearisome sensory burden of feeling your toes and fingers. Personally, this inescapable cold has given me the gift of bronchitis. As a rebuttal to the antibiotic I'm on, my body has, in return, given me the gift of vomiting. Some people are just too generous.

In short, I will never again complain about the heat in Paraguay or the healthcare system in the US of A. Wish me luck not catching my synthetic polyester blanket on fire while huddling next to the burning charcoal pit!

Culture Clash

What do you see when you picture Paraguay?

Millions of people here are still without running water and use latrines or simply squat behind a 'curtain' that blows in the wind and you're lucky if there is toilet paper even in the public restrooms in schools, hospitals and restaurants. Yet, my neighbor has wi-fi and a pair of Converse All-Stars. That's Paraguay.

How did it happen?

25 years ago, the average citizen in PY was still without electricity, running water and shoes: In 1986. The infiltration of the developed world happened quickly and within a few years most of the population had lights, televisions, and landline phones but the technology- and fashion-forward cultures of the US and Europe bombarded Paraguay too quickly to provide supplemental education. This is common in third-world countries: We bring the goods but not the knowledge. As a result, the latest generation in Paraguay wants everything the US has because they've seen in in movies. They know exactly what they want: Gucci handbags, Bluetooth cell phones, bottle-blond hair. However, most of them do not know where the US is on a map, let alone that New York City has a greater population than their entire country (a lot Paraguayns think this is total bullshit, by the way: Norte liars!). They have MP3 players but do not know how to work their computers to download the music. Why? Their computer programs are all in English, including the instructions.

My host Mom has a washing machine and a Dell but had no idea that sugar caused her son's cavities.

So, here I am preaching dental health and nutrition to a generation of people who consider themselves well-educated and not in need of assistance. Their parents before them would have (and probably did in 1975) happily admit that they were falling behind globally and needed a lot of help. However, I run into people here that don't believe there is anything wrong with their health or education systems and are resistant to foreign aid, Peace Corps included. This comes in part from being located in a semi-affluent area by local standards. I was told a week or so ago that I couldn't change anything here because I didn't have any more knowledge than the people I was working with. Just to clarify, here's what I'm working with.

The team at my health post doesn't put any stock in the 'Germ Theory.'
95% of the country has multiple cavities........ 95.
Commonly-held beliefs of.... pretty much everyone:
-Taking a shower after you've worked out will make you sick.
-Wearing a wet shirt will give you a stomach ache.
-Eating citrus then milk will kill you.
-Leaving your upper chest uncovered will give you a headache.
-Men can do whatever they want.
-If God doesn't want it, it won't happen.

It's rough trying to be a health-worker in a country full of people who don't believe in your witch-doctor science theories, like coughing on people spreads bacteria and sneezing into your hand is generally a bad idea. I wanted to tell that nice man who told me I didn't have any more knowledge than him that I in fact had a BS and a Master's but I didn't. Instead I just kept saying, Jahechata. We'll see. And when he asked me what was so bad about Paraguayan I spit some statistics at him about diabetes, obesity and giardia.

Well, I'll do what I can and leave the rest to TV.

Speaking of TV- Paraguayans love the Simpsons!

At least I can feel useful when, while watching Los Simpsons, random English words pop across the screen and everyone screams, "What is that?!" "And that?!" "That?!" Who's smart now? I speak English, suckers!

Why Am I Here?

It's a question I can answer for myself with a great deal of assuredness but convincing Paraguayans of the answer is a different matter. From the perspective of someone who lives in a brick/mud house that at times has running water and electricity and is under the authority of a corrupt and stunted government, volunteers seem like crazy people.

What Paraguayans have trouble understanding is why I would leave the US of A, allegedly the birthplace of freedom and the gateway to a better life, to spend two years living in comparative squalor with no benefit to myself. Unless, of course, I was a spy trying to conseguir the Guarani aquifer, one of the world's largest groundwater resevoirs. This they can imagine.

Guarani Aquifer

For me, the answer is the experience in itself. The relationships. And, oh yeah, helping the people.

Last night, I had the most intense conversation with a Paraguayan thus far in my life. This guy wanted to do know what I was doing here so I lovingly gave him the Peace Corps schpiel: I'm here to provide technical support and participate in a cultural exchange. He called my BS. Then he wanted to know why I didn't like America. Because if I've left my native country there's obviously something wrong with it. I explained to dude- very forceful and direct for a Paraguayan- that I love the US but I have a desire to help people in less fortunate situations than we've got going on with Uncle Sam. My Spanish was maybe not so eloquent, but you get the idea. Oh, and they know who Tio Sam is down here. Then he says to me, I would never go to Bolivia because they are poor and I don't want to live with poor people who have worse lives than I do. So why are you here?

Why am I here?

He said, You can't change our behaviors in two years, it's impossible. The things that hold this culture from advancing to the level of a developed country are based in deeply-rooted cultural norms that hang inevitably over every house like the thick cloud of trash-burning smoke that sits there as well. Impossible to avoid, almost impossible to change.

It's true. I can't change the thinking of all 2.000 people in this town in the next two years. I can't turn the culture around overnight and convince the people to partake in the behaviors they already know can improve their lives but choose not to execute.

But if I change the mentality of one child? Of ten, or twenty children? The sustainability of the Peace Corps isn't just in the concept of teaching people to help themselves. It's also in the idea that altering one person's mindset can result in a lifetime of small, seemingly inconsequential changes that, over time and with enough people, can result in the alteration and betterment of a society.

So- one person at a time.

El Temido Calefon

This blog is dedicated to my shower experiences, those that I've had indoors. I'm not ready to talk about the other ones. I'm borrowing this post from a fellow volunteer's blog. The original can be found at the address below the article.


"Most Paraguayan bathrooms (those that have running water) have electrical showerheads called a “calefón.” Cold water passing through the showerhead is heated by an electrical element. Once the water is past the heating element and through the showerhead it disperses into the small droplets that make up your nice, warm shower. The temperature is regulated by the water flow – more water flow descreases the temperature of your shower and vice-versa. You can only make your shower so hot, though. Once the water flow diminishes too much the calefón will automatically turn off, at which point the bathroom lights may get brighter. Increasing the flow will turn it back on. To cut power off completely look for the switch (many times it is a black and red flip-switch) in or directly outside the bathroom. Most calefóns have winter and summer settings with varying degrees of water- heating capabilities.









From the point of view of certain foreigners a contraption that involves water and electricity and a naked user is alarming. This is especially so because the electrical wiring is clearly visible in most calefón installations. Many times the wires are barely insulated with electrical tape. It is worth noting calefons are nicknamed “widow-makers” in English. Calefóns are in widespread use throughout Latin America. They are cheaper than regular water heaters (“termotanques” in Spanish), simpler to install and use less electricity because they do not have to keep water hot all day long. As a foreigner you will quickly (hopefully) learn the calefón tricks locals learn from an early age. If you touch the water just under the showerhead, before it has dispersed enough, electricity will travel through you to the floor. It is not a pleasant experience. It is best to avoid reaching above your head and, if you´re tall, engage in extra careful hair-washing. Also avoid fiddling with the showerhead settings while showering unless you are certain the calefón has been switched off. Despite the fear-factor calefons do have one main benefit: you can take as long a shower as you´d like without fear of running out of hot water (as long as your electricity doesn´t go out)."


Retrieved from http://discoveringparaguay.com/home/the-dreaded-calefon-el-temido-calefon/

Fighting off the sub-tropical diseases

There are surprises around every corner and one of them happens to be dengue-ridden mosquitoes. Another happens to be giardia. And yet another happens to be the drunk neighbor who has forgotten where he lives again and would like to swap opinions on his mother's cooking - in Guarani.

You don't know what dengue and giardia are? Here, look them up:

GIARDIA

DENGUE FEVER

I find that if I let my guard down for just a moment ('my guard' includes peering behind bushes, liberally applying bug spray to my bed sheets and shouting about the deliciousness of all food, at all times), something sneaks up to bite me in the ass. Literally. Living in a foreign country (yep, still feels foreign) means being on your toes at all times or else finding yourself in curious situations that you're way unprepared for. Can I relax in my own home? Not entirely. It's not my home. I'm just squatting here, sharing a bedroom with a 40 year-old woman and an 8 year-old boy and sharing my bed with mosquitoes, fruit flies and bed bugs.
* I don't know why the fruit flies hang out in the bedroom. 
In addition, my family watches every move I make like I'm a newly discovered species of human who needs to be carefully monitored, observed and heavily criticized. If I shower less than 2 times a day, it becomes necessary to discuss and laugh uproariously about it with the extended family; if I eat bread for breakfast instead of fatty, creamy cow's milk, I'm put on suicide watch (any girl not eating her fill is obviously depressed); and if I stare too long at a passing man, my compatibility with this man is thoroughly discussed over the phone with at least two other members of the family. It's good have second and third opinions before we decide the wedding colors.


However, the good thing about this constant state of either surprise or preparation for surprise is that my reflexive instincts are becoming finely honed. I've noticed an improvement in my reaction time when grandma says, "You don't like my food?". I can verbally dip and dodge until suddenly the tables are turned and she's practically drowning in guilt for even asking the question. I can skirt around the controversially honest answers to inquiries on religion, salary or U.S. government intent in the war in Iraq (what is that, again?) until the bombillas around me are hanging drolly from mouths plunged in astonishment. As a Peace Corps volunteer, it's necessary to do what other people might call, 'lie'. These half-truths keep us alive and out of the spotlight when it comes to politically- or religiously-charged issues. The rest of the time, the spotlight is all ours.

Physically, these surprises come in the forms of living and inanimate objects at all times of the day and night. Most recently, I've been struck by an interesting set of symptoms that indicate I may be suffering from anxiety or a fatal sub-tropical bacterial infection. Or it might just be something I ate. Endemically speaking, bed bugs are a lovely addition to my life. Or should they really be a concern? Are most people necessarily 'concerned' about the people (or creatures) they share a bed with every night? Their snuggle partners? Their love bugs? No- but I am. Each morning I wake up to an array of new spots and fissures in my skin that indicate an impending life-long dependency on Mederma®.  If I was a stronger person, I might greet these new markers of my resiliency with pride but as it were, I take a peek in the 8 x 12 inch mirror in the bathroom and try not to have a panic attack so early in the day, realizing I have little to no control over my body. Of course to have a looksy in the bathroom mirror, I have to fight off a horde of hungry mosquitoes that rise like the second coming of the Messiah from the watery grave of the bathroom floor when I turn on the light. Dengue cloud.

Some of you may be thinking.... God she sounds miserable. Defeated. Depressed. But rest assured, I am none of those things. I've only [further] developed a sense of black humor to prevent myself from sinking into feelings of home-sickness or defeatism.

The challenging part about this first initial piece of service is that we are all struggling through the challenges of living abroad in a third world country and have yet to see many of the rewards. At times, it becomes difficult to remember why we are. The rewards, both for ourselves and for those around us, become a distant point on the horizon, barely visible and seeming to sink slowly backward with each step forward. But with our logical, well-evolved brains (yes, we have those! I swear!), we can remember that thousands of people have come before us and done just what we're doing now and not only survived but flourished.

A day in the life

Since I'm feeling productive today, I'm going to outline my activities so yall can all get a taste of what my day-to-day looks like.


5:30 - my little brother starts screaming in the next room, claiming to be stuck inside of his mosquito net and really has to pee. Not stuck. Not actually possible.
6 - my Mom cranks up the radio, TV and the blender.

*sidenote: doors do not exist between the three rooms of the house

6:30 - I stop pretending to be asleep and get up, eat and get dressed
7:30 - I leave for the health post
9:00 - We make a house call to the next community. For the next two hours, I watch incredible feats of modern medicine take place, including the following:

-- Peeing laying down, sans bed pan or catheter;
-- A saline drip hanging (with the rope from a cow's leash) from a thatch roof; and
-- An RX script written on a chunk of paper found blowing around on the ground outside. Don't worry- she put the stamp on it: It's officla.

11:30 - Return to the puesto (health post) to review the community's censuses and develop a plan to work with the doctor and nurses to teach sex ed in the schools (what what!)
12:30 - Eat lunch. Almuerzo consists of boiled potatoes, tomatoes, green peppers and onions and bread.
1:00 - Internet time
2:00 - Private English class with two young boys

* now I'm writing in the future

3:30 - Walk to the city to buy groceries (about 4 miles round trip)
5:30 - Visit Grandma's house where, surely, I will be fed something fatty and delicious
7:00 - Drink milk for dinner
7:30 - Visit the school to watch a class
9:00 - Bid my family goodnight while I go to speak on English on my cellular phone



That's a pretty normal day for me!! Throughout the day, plans might change dramatically when someone realizes there is a very important event that I must go to. Paraguayans don't really talk about the future much, so even though you might have specifically asked your neighbor if anything was going on tomorrow night and they said no, when tomorrow night actually rolls around they may realize at that moment that a huge ceremony is under way- and it's in your honor. They've been preparing food for three days. You better go.

Somehow, I think all of these things are funny. Frustrating in the moment but when I swap stories with my other volunteer friends at the end of the day, all I can do is laugh.

If you want to get a better feel for the problems I run into on a daily basis, please follow the twitter account: paraguayproblems My friend Taylor posts things that we text to her throughout the day. It's worth signing up for a twitter account.