Mba’eichapa oje’e “Figure shit out, get shit done” guaraníme?

Almost 3 months after arriving in Paraguay, I’ve finally gotten (sufficiently) motivated to write about the experience. If you know me you may know that A. I have moved to Paraguay to serve as a Peace Corps Volunteer and B. That I am not a skilled, experienced, or prolific writer. Telling stories aloud is surely fun but the written word is tricky to say the least. My thanks for making it this far and for your continued patience if you elect to read further.

At this point you may be asking yourself, “What does ‘mba’eichapa oje’e’ mean? What language is that even? Why this fixation on shit?” Briefly, that phrase is in guaraní, one of two official languages of the South American country of Paraguay in which I will be serving for two years as a Community Health volunteer. “Mba’eichapa oje’e_____ guaraníme” translates as “How do you say figure shit out, get shit done in guaraní”. That part about figuring things out came from a conversation I had with an advisor who suggested that we as Americans put too much value on our culture of work and too much importance on the “efficient” use of time. An RPCV (Returned Peace Corps Volunteer) himself, he cautioned me against the “figure shit out, get shit done ad nauseam” concept that pervades the minds of so many Americans, and instead strongly recommended that I take the time to develop relationships with the people in my community to find true success and fulfillment.

Turns out Peace Corps and the international development community have caught on to this idea as well, and we were never spared reminders of this during training. Where once development was done to and for people, the context and ideas have changed to include citizens of host countries in the planning and execution of development and even now to enable them to be their own agents of change. Despite the sound logic of this approach, I was critical of many aspects of training that seemed superfluous, useless, or simply a waste of time. There it is again: time. A few people have asked me what the hardest part about being away from home is, and I can honestly say that adjusting to a new concept of time undoubtedly beats out a new language (or two), culture, food, climate, or anything else. What happens back home when you spend a long while eating, drinking, sitting, chatting, or thinking without a specific objective or purpose? What would that be called? Does some part of you feel guilty? Is it a waste of time? Have you been goofing off? Dicking around perhaps? Pissing the night away? We’re pretty fairly addicted to checking our watches, whipping out our phones, glancing at the corner of the computer screen (BUSTED) because we have a need to feel useful or productive.

Maybe it’s just me. Peace Corps has a set of three goals for volunteers everywhere to strive towards, but a personal fourth goal of mine is to CHILL OUT. Despite every bone in my body screaming for me to do the opposite, I want to suppress the desire to figure shit out and get shit done. The work will get done and the world’s crazy and stressful enough as it is, right? Like folks down here are fond of saying, tranquilopá.

UPDATE: I should say also that leaving my friends and family yet again is as hard as ever in case somebody out there was feeling slighted. Incidentally I haven’t yet found out how to say “Figure shit out, get shit done” in Guaraní.

Fear and Self-Loathing in Paraguay

It’s been a hell of a long time since I’ve had the wherewithal to write a blog post but I want you to know that I’m still alive and still sweating profusely down here in Paraguayan cattle country. I’ve had the great pleasure of hosting a couple of visitors since my last update- my darling girlfriend Kendra came down to Santa María in September to live the Volunteer life for a couple weeks and my eternal pal and swimming teammate CJ accompanied me to Argentina and Brazil in November for some sightseeing and culinary appreciation. More recently I ventured to Costa Rica with Kendra, my siblings, and my parents for a much needed winter holiday where we hiked, paddle boarded, surfed, forded rivers, and generally had a fabulous if not particularly restful trip.

I want to and fully intend to expand on these trips and on my recent work as a Volunteer but there’s something else eating at me that bears talking about first.

As Peace Corps Trainees last summer my friends and I had about a billion lectures and presentations about a slew of topics at least tangentially related to life as a Volunteer. We learned about Paraguayan culture, the Guaraní language, community engagement techniques, and how to build gardens. My favorite sessions always pertained to health because of our health team (⅓ of which is a former Mr. Paraguay winner turned physician and subject of much interest and discussion among Volunteers) and because talking about poop is hilarious. At some point we had to make a personal health plan that was supposed to help us respond to a variety of typical health issues of both the physical and mental variety. I’ve reproduced the best questions down below.

Q: What common health problems are you worried about here in Paraguay?

A: Hair loss, chivivi (super turbo diarrhea), food poisoning and super turbo diarrhea from totally gross empanadas filled with diced intestine, dengue fever, botflies.

Q: How would you respond to or avoid the above concerns?

A: Respectively, consult with the Peace Corps docs to get biotin capsules, thoroughly cook my food, ask in multiple languages what it is I’m about to eat and then feign acute vegetarianism, use lots of insect repellant, freak the fuck out.

We also had sections about mental health and emergency situations that escape my memory but be assured I was very thorough and prepared for every contingency.

Fast forward to December- I’m experiencing and addressing hair loss (that might’ve happened anyway), have managed to avoid GI problems for a few months, definitely ate some shitty empanadas back in March and paid dearly for it, get nibbled sometimes but haven’t keeled over, and have random creepy thoughts about botfly larvae wriggling just under the surface of my skin.

But you know what else? I get angry. And cripplingly depressed. And apathetic. And annoyingly chirpy. And content. And sarcastic. And so on. In no particular order. Every. Day. If you know me, you may know that this is pretty atypical for a guy who generally prides himself on being a real mellow fellow. It came as a shock to me, too.

“Oh gee Spence,” you might say.

Q: “What did you do? You consulted your trusty health plan, right? You definitely had a plan for that.”

A: Yes, I did have a plan and fuck no, I didn’t consult it. That thing is for sure getting moldy in a box in a corner of my house.

Q: “So what did you do instead?”

A: I moped.

A: I denied anything was wrong.

A: I worked out harder and jumped rope faster.

A: I listened to Nine Inch Nails and told myself that this was part of the normal adjustment to life abroad.

A: I stayed in my house and wished for rain so that I would be justified in never going outside.

A: I actually cut my alcohol consumption to nothing for another reason but it seemed like a doubly good idea at the time.

Q: Does ignoring your problems make them go away?

Kendra pretty much knew what was going on the whole time as did my friend John and together they convinced me to make an appointment to see a shrink. I should mention that Volunteers in Paraguay have a lot of resources for mental health maintenance but I was unwilling to take that step until a particularly rotten day.

So I went to Asunción and met with the therapist. It was relatively painless process and he’s a really nice guy. I just had my final session with him and he has proclaimed me once again a well-adjusted individual. He had a couple recommendations for me after we identified what he calls my dilemma (of which I’ll spare you the details).

1. Swim whenever possible. There’s a Master’s meet in Asunción in March I’ll compete in as well. My therapist happens to be a former swimmer and I fully intend to whoop him there. Place your bets now.
2. Drink beer whenever I want. I feel like this is tantamount to the Dalai Lama, Matthew McConaughey in Dazed and Confused, and the ghost of John Lennon telling me it’s cool to crack open a cold one.  
3. Get out of my house and socialize. This part’s tough. Kendra shared a Jim Carey quote with me where he basically talks about the addictive nature of solitude and how draining socializing can be. That captures the sentiment perfectly.

What’s the take away here? After going to a couple sessions I talked with a number of friends and came to realize that this shit happens to a lot of people. If I had a beer for every Volunteer who’s told me they’ve seen or are currently seeing a therapist I could fill up that baby pool you had as a little kid and still have enough left over for a weekend barbecue. I think it’s outside my purview to speculate whether this is a Paraguay specific issue, a Peace Corps problem, or something even larger. The implications are spooky at best but I’ll give it a shot.

This existential crisis of mine put my life somewhat further into perspective as it got me thinking in general about living abroad for any person. Volunteers have the great privilege of choosing to be abroad and the option to elect to leave whenever we want. Ultimately, there’s nothing keeping me here right now but myself and maybe my pride. But what about for people who don’t have a choice? Or for whom the consequences of such a choice are much more serious? Surely they too go through these mental health hurdles without the kinds of support and backup that are available to PCVs. I’m speaking rather obliquely (but no longer) about immigrants and refugees to both our country and others. How fucking miserable must it be to live thousands of miles away from your birthplace, family, and friends in a place where you might not understand the language, culture, or customs? And how doubly miserable knowing that this is something you’re obligated to do because back home you’d face dire economic straits, societal ruin, persecution, or the specter of violent death? Some choice. Oh and there are likely people in your new host country who want nothing more than for you to go home.

Some days are better than others. Summer is a pretty tough time because it’s so hot and so little happens when school is out of session. It helps to have things to look forward to and plan around. Like the project outline I’ve been procrastinating over by writing this post. Thanks for reading.

 

Work or: How I Kinda Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bombilla

August 9th officially marked my 3 month anniversary in site, so although this post is belated, I thought it prudent to provide the American taxpayer with a little progress report. No matter your opinion on current tax policy, I’m sure we can all agree that Daddy needed a new bike. Before you ask, yes, it’s Chinese. I’m sorry. I would’ve bought American but our budget was threatened with a rather large cut recently. Call your reps.

I stepped in an anthill to get this photo

On May 9, 2017, I arrived in what will be my home until May 9, 2019 ish. Let that sink in a little bit. I’ll tell you about the place in the meantime. My town is located in the southern department of Misiones which is known for -you guessed it- missions. The ruins of Jesuit reductions in the area span far and wide here and even extend down into Argentina. I think there’s a movie about them if you’re into history and great casts but I won’t bore you with the details. Weirdly enough, Misiones in general is a lot like rural Texas. It’s usually damn hot with gently rolling hills, there are lots of mosquitoes and ants and pine trees, and a lot of folks speak Spanish and drive great big-ass pickup trucks and grill a lot of cows. I appreciate these similarities greatly and felt obliged to memorialize my gratitude a few weekends ago with a slightly gravelly karaoke rendition of the old country standard “All My Exes Live in Texas.”

Almost indistinguishable from the Hill Country right?

So at first glance my town, aptly named Santa María, really has got it all. There’s excellent health clinic, a police station, a hotel, a Jesuit history museum, a horse racetrack, a small landing strip for crop dusters and the like, and a long-awaited ATM was just recently installed. I might mention also that I’m not the only foreigner here by a long shot. There is a very successful English language charity smack in the center of town that is run by a retired English journalist and staffed by volunteer teachers from the UK and the US and word on the street is there’s a Belgian university student around here somewhere as well.

Why am I here? That’s an excellent question. The Paraguayan Ministry of Public Health and Social Wellbeing (rough translation) has, together with the Peace Corps Community Health sector, identified three main areas of work. As a result of diet/nutrition and lifestyle, noncommunicable diseases such as cancer, diabetes, lung disease, and heart disease are becoming increasingly prevalent and contributing to quality years of life lost throughout the country. Additionally, maternal and child health are a high priority as rates of teen pregnancy rise along with pre and postpartum complications. Finally, teen health and education are being prioritized to ensure that future Paraguayans are physically healthy and mentally well-adjusted citizens. While sexual health and drug abuse are frequently discussed topics, savvy financial decision making and gender identity are also addressed by many Volunteers.

In most cases, a Volunteer’s presence must be requested by a member of the community or by a previous Volunteer. In my case, the doctor in charge of the preventive care unit of the local health center asked for a Community Health Volunteer to work in health promotion and education. To that end I’ve been riding along on house calls in the community, observing patient visits, and dipping my toes into charlas or educational talks in the health center waiting room, local schools, or on the radio.

Santa Maria is also home to a suboffice of SENEPA, a service of the Paraguayan Ministry of Health that focuses on vector control and surveillance of diseases such as dengue fever, malaria, leishmaniasis, chikungunya, and Zika virus disease. I’ve been going out with their team on rastrillaje which taken literally means raking, but in this context refers to house calls around the community to identify and physically destroy mosquito breeding habitats. It’s with this group that I hope complete my final credits at Boston University School of Public Health and in so doing earn my degree of Master of Public Health.

The guaraní phrase mboi sy translates literally as snake mother

In the near future I’ll be doing trainings with the health center staff on physical fitness and diet as well as organizing a Zumba class for a number of interested parties. I’m also hoping to run a wilderness/survival/outdoors appreciation camp in the distant future depending on the amount of buy-in I can extract from area youth.

Finally, I owe Peace Corps and Santa María in general a document called a Community Needs Assessment that is essentially a report on the history, geography, social demographics, human and natural resources, and health needs of the community. This will in theory serve as a guide for the remainder of my service, allowing me to determine where and how to focus my energy and effort.

I know what you’re thinking.

Ah yes interesting stuff, sounds relevant and time-consuming, hope he has enough peanut butter, hope he’s not making an ass of himself in two additional languages, etc.

While I can guarantee that I am tapped out of the greatest food product in human history and am the butt of many a joke both of my own making and not, you may recall that in a previous post I touched on differences in time and being “useful” or “productive.” Since writing that, I’ve had the chance to speak with a number of people about concepts of work in other cultures. I’m reasonably convinced at this point that the go-get-em attitude that characterizes many US citizens (according to pop culture and public sentiment, anyway) is pretty unique to a handful of “developed” countries. Rather, great importance is laid upon developing relationships private and public.

L to R:  Lic. Antoliana, José,  Lic. Claudia, Dra. Morel, yours truly, Adri, Megan, Profe Mariela,  Don Pedro, Lic. Elida

To this end, a fair amount what passes for work up to this point has been spent drinking terere and more recently its hot cousin mate. When drinking terere or mate, an insulated cup called a guampa is filled with the yerba mate tea herb. Hot or cold water is then poured on top depending on the weather at the moment, left to soak for a moment, then sipped through a brass straw called a bombilla. This ritual/ceremony/daily occurrence is in a sense a cornerstone of the Paraguayan social experience.

Think of it like this. In some jobs people engage in team-building via fun ropes courses and company outings. Others build relationships by playing golf. We drink tea. And we’re good at it. Peace Corps even gave us special cups as proof.

PC gossip says they used to give us machetes but some guy stabbed himself on accident so now we get guampas

Thanks as always for reading and for your love, support, and well-wishes.

Rain, politics, and mold

It’s been raining on and off here with alarming consistency lately. Everyone I talk with feels the need to apologize, as if they themselves were the responsible party with a lamentable but necessary job to see through.

“It’s not usually like this!” they protest.

“All this wet is very strange, not normal at all.”

“Este tiempo no da gusto.”

“This is our present from the planet, a gift of global warming and climate change,” I sigh, ashamed of my country’s complicity and aware that the Paraguayan contribution is disproportionate to the burden experienced.

They nod sagely and we continue to sip mate, the ubiquitous hot tea drink that makes the neverending drizzle somewhat more bearable. There isn’t much else to do as many Volunteers’ sites shut down when the rains come through. Axle-deep mud and flooding pretty much see to that. Working out? Not unless you’re into aquarobics. Public transportation out to a larger town for a Volunteer meeting and instant coffee? The bus is probably stuck in the cowpatch next door. Head to one of the schools to talk with the students? They’ve already got one up on you- they stayed in bed. Better to hunker down with the host family and neighbors and engage in some quality integration and immersion.

“So. Trump.”

This, authoritatively.

……shit. Again?

Folks down here are pretty interested in the goings on up in our half of the globe. And why not? Decisions made by the United States government and the Leader of the Free World™ have a way of affecting more than just estadounidenses, no matter what some people might have you think. It’s worth mentioning that although Volunteers are technically prohibited from involving ourselves in host country politics (which typically means avoiding conversations, protests, rallies, etc.) there’s no such ordinance against discussing American politics. One of our goals is to “promote a better understanding of Americans on the part of the peoples served” and what a ripe opportunity the recent election has proved to be. Teachable moments or something like that. So what does one say? We grow up learning that honesty is the best policy so I try to hit people with a healthy dose of facts. Pending any findings from Robert Mueller’s investigation, we had a fair election whereby our new president was elected. Not by a majority of voters in this case, but via the rule of the electoral college. Legal and clear, no matter your opinion of the system. Innocent until proven guilty, right?

“Do you like him [Trump]?”

This usually comes on the heels of the most cogent explanation I can muster in Spanish, Guaraní, and the occasional English curse muttered under my breath in response to my inadequacy. Followed up with more diplomacy.

I voted for another candidate, but it’s important to remember that many, many people cast their votes for Donald Trump. It’s not a perfect system, but there are people out there who genuinely believe that he was and is the right man for the job. We need to accept and respect that and have to work within the confines of the law to change what we don’t agree with.

To the best of my understanding, folks find this relatable. Paraguay has, even recently, had its share of political turmoil and many people are of divided opinion. Another country dominated by two major political parties, Paraguay has reconciliations to make before the long march of progress can continue in earnest. I’d like to go on, but rules. Hone your Google-fu a little and let me know what you find.

An unpleasant little result of this rain has been the growth of all sorts of interesting organisms you’d normally associate with loaves of bread and basements. I don’t have any photos which is perhaps just as well since Volunteers have collectively witnessed the loss of various articles of clothing, documents, leather goods, precious hours of sleep, and shreds of sanity. The mold tends to form anywhere and everywhere so we take sunshine where we can get it and employ lime juice and salt to remove what we can. Y’all have any good home remedies?

Until later, friends. Coming up after this commercial break, we’ll talk a bit about my home for the next two years, work or lack thereof, and language.

UPDATE: The sun did eventually come out to play.

It’s like a gruener version of Texas here

 

Big apology to my grandparents, I swear I meant to call 3 months ago

It occurred to me that I should provide a little background and history up to this point to catch everyone up on my life’s goings on, so to that effect here’s a rundown of my home life, training, and assorted activities.

I spent the first 2.5ish months in Paraguay in a little compañia (boonie town) called Guasu Cora where I lived with a lovely and truly exceptional family.

Best house in Guasu Cora

Verdant glade

 

 My host father Armando was a paratrooper in the Paraguayan army for a number of years before retiring to the bucolic life of a countryside farmer with a menagerie of animals that beats the hell out of anything I’ve seen back home. This man has been snakebit multiple times and still gets up at 4:30 every day to take the cows out. The monkey is a real sumbitch and once pulled the heads off 40 guineafowl chicks.

Armando and Nico: The next great crimefighting duo

My host mother Esther is wonderful and went out of her way every single day to make me as comfortable and welcome in their home as possible. It’s also worth saying that she’s the best cook this side of the equator (I defy you to find one better.) Y’all ever heard of pastel mandi’o? New fast food craze coming at you, and fast.

Esther, John, and Elvia at Cerro Jaguarón

My brothers Diego and Carlos are the embodiment of the guapo ideal out here in Paraguay. While they are indeed handsome men, guapo here means hardworking. Although it’s often employed to tease or gently poke fun at somebody, being called guapo or guapa is in fact quite the compliment and I saw these guys busting their butts every day at work, school, or around the house. Diego is a university engineering student who works in an aluminum factory and Carlos is a high school student who is raising and training a competition-tier racehorse.

Diego, a horse butt, and some random guy

Elvia and her son Miguel are family friends but as far as I’m concerned they’re just as much my sister and brother.

Bright sun during our Easter weekend hike

Let’s not forget my close personal friend and fellow volunteer John. Without this guy living across the street from me I surely would’ve had a meltdown back in March.

Out of focus but killing it as always

This isn’t an exhaustive list but if I posted photos of all the people who’ve supported me up to this point you’d be scrolling all day. If you’re reading this and feel slighted let me know! I’ll make a special post all about you!

Now a bit about training. I don’t think I’ve had a love/hate relationship like this since I broke up with swimming. Language class, while sometimes frustrating, was necessary and beneficial in ways that I can’t adequately articulate. The powers-that-be deemed my Spanish skills good enough so that I immediately began learning Guaraní by way of Spanish. Studying in a small group with three people who’ve been speaking Spanish since birth was kind of a drag but I credit them with pushing me so that I made YUGE strides in both languages in a relatively short amount of time. Throwing around some Guaraní is a surefire way to build some instant goodwill and street cred among Paraguayans, particularly when you’re out in the countryside. Technical training rubbed me the wrong way for a couple of reasons, the least of which being that doing icebreakers among volunteers every day seemed like a colossal waste of time after the first week. Pretty sure we melted and evaporated it all long after the activity ceased being useful. I can’t deny, however, that we learned a variety of useful skills to educate, engage, and motivate members of our new host communities. In addition to these, we had the opportunity to do some good old fashioned manual labor straight from the Kennedy-era Peace Corps experience which turned into a pretty fun garden project John and I undertook with a friend before leaving our training community.

Make sure you let your friends do the hardest parts

Gotta water that compost

Use lots of manure on the pile

We of course found time to relax and have fun while training doing any number of things. 48 trainees at various times taught yoga and frisbee, played pickup soccer games with local kids, patronized all the finest bars, went on family outings, had a pool party, competed in a footrace in a training community, learned traditional Paraguayan dance, learned how to make chipa (a wildly popular, ridiculously tasty and hideously unhealthy baked good), pitched hammocks, watched movies, ate gallons of ice cream, ran hundreds of kilometers, and burned through dozens of books.

I could go on all day about life out here. Waking up to the smell of burnt sugar tea. Listening to the howler monkeys roar and grumble every morning during your 6 AM predawn runs. Slaughtering with extreme prejudice more mosquitoes in 3 days than you’ve seen in the rest of your life combined. Enduring countless awkward conversational misunderstandings. Hearing polka and accordions thousands of miles from Europe. Stomping through knee deep floodwater after storms the likes of which you probably haven’t seen unless you’ve lived on some island somewhere. Pulling more fruit than you could ever eat off trees on every corner. I could write about all of these things and post photos until my fingers bleed. I could come home someday and you could say “Spencer how was it? What was it like?” and I could tell you. And I will. But you’ll understand it all better once you’re here.

Coming next time: a post about the community where I’ll be spending 2 years, work, malaise, rain, and being rich.

Jajotopata– We’ll find each other

John, Camille, and that random guy again