Nature and all that jazz

This morning I woke up feeling less than spectacular.  The weather was ivai (bad) and my plans to clean my new house and get ready for move in got cancelled.  My brother and sister have now taken to making fun of me when I speak English as well and my mom seems to enjoy jumping on that train as well.  We had soy coffee and this fried corn cow fat thing that I turned down last night for breakfast again.  So needless to say, not your favorite morning.  

But, looking for a way to escape the house and destress I finally convinced a Señora and her daughter to hike the cerro (hill/mountain) with me.  And so off we went.  And you would not believe how easily my mood changed.  Swinging on vines, wading through waterfalls, listening to an 11 year old try to sing along to Call Me Maybe and seeing the beautiful biodiversity of plants that are just a walk from my community was amazing.  Nature and exercise really do do wonders for a person.  Well at least for me it does.  Thanks Mother Nature, you really saved the day.  

Third World Trivia Night

This post is called trivia night mostly because I desperately miss my San Diego trivia nights with my coworkers.  Glasses of fine wine, delicious food, friends, and fun.  What more could a girl want.  Granted I never really helped the team very much but a good time all the same.  Team Beer Me forever. 

Hopes and dreams aside, the reason it’s third world trivia night is because I feel like every day is trivia night here without the wine, or good food, friends, and even sometimes the fun portion.  Because I don’t have much to talk about with my community the same general conversations usually happen and when the awkward silence happens I ask them to ask me questions about life in the US. I do this because I originally thought this would be easy.  A confidence builder if you will.  And then I started getting questions that I didn’t know the answer to. A lot of questions that I had no freaking clue.  So I am here to ask all you know it all’s. Feel free to comment with answers and winners will receive a free drink when you visit me.  See what I did there? And Sierra, you’ll get a cake.

1)     How many people live in the US?

2)     What percentage of Americans are millionaires?

3)     Are there a lot of trees in the US like here?

4)     How much does the average person make in Guaranies?

5)     How many trains are in the US?

6)     What type of material is the train floor made of?

7)     Which state has the most Paraguayans?

8)     What types of fruits do you eat with milk?

9)     What food does every family eat at least once a week?

10)  How much does it cost to buy a club in New York City?

11)  Which countries do you import your food from?

12)  What is the average summer and winter temperature in Celsius?

13)  Where does Miley Cyrus live? Justin Bieber?

That’s all I can think of for now but I will continually update this post as more get asked.  More for me to remember than anything.  Hope you did well!!!

Your hair smells bad

The school has been more than intimidating this past month.  Everytime I go it is extremely awkward and I don't do anything.  Cuz I'm not allowed to do anything.  But I still have to be a professional role model for the kids because eventually the goal is that I will teach in the school.  So it's a whole lot of awkwardly standing around with the teachers not understanding a thing they are saying.  "Observing" the classes and knowing the kids are making fun of you but not having a sassy reply back to defend yourself. 

Quick story.  The teacher is splitting the 6th graders up into groups in their guarani class which I was clearly not understanding and the teacher told me in front of the whole class that the kids didn't want me in their group because my hair smells bad.  Me, thinking this was weird because I had just showered ignored it and moved on.  Later to find out that your hair smells bad apparently is a metaphor for you're an idiot and not learning anything.  Who would have known?  Smart play munchkins.  Proved yourself right on that one.  

And indefinitely answering the so what are you doing here question with I'm not sure, what so you want me to do? Hence, not my favorite place.  

Which is weird.  Because in the states I love kids.  Love them.  I would babysit for free most days because they're just so awesome, although the extra cash is nice.  They just bring up your mood, give you freedom to be a kid again (who doesn't like dressing up as belle and building a princess castle to host our woodchip sale), and are a constant source of entertainment.  So in my mind, win, win, and win.  So why in the world would it be any different here? Kids are kids. That they are.  But here I'm missing that any sort of authority figure.  How can I be a role model when I don't know how to even say role model? That we shall see.  

But nonetheless i go, in hopes of one day it not being terribly awkward.  I go to the preschool class to learn left and right and get a few smiles and cuteness in and not be intimidated by anyone and everyone.  Refreshing.  But I also went to the 9th grade class and my love for teenagers stands strong.  Fine they make fun of me too, but they also teach me how to make fun back.  They desperately want to learn English (Holla!  Something I'm good at!) and instantly love me for teaching them the word crazy so they can go around calling each other that.  Fine, whatever makes you happy.  And most importantly for asking me when I was gonna come back.  Hey there 9th graders.  Thanks for being my not so little sunshines.  You're gonna do great things.  

Here's to better luck, less awkwardness, and being the role model these kids want and need in the school.  And a shoutout to all my San Diego kiddos. I love you to pieces and miss you like crazy :-) 

Immersion

Immersion.  It’s the best way to learn.  Or so I’ve heard.  I thought I was fully aware of what the word immersion meant.  After all, I am fluent in English, or at least I like to think so.  I even took it upon myself to look it up in the dictionary, online of course (oh technology) and this is the definition I found: To be deeply engaged or involved.  But let me tell you just how wrong that definition is.  Immersion may be the best way to learn although I won’t stand behind that point quite yet, but what I do know is that immersion is so much harder than it lets itself on to be.  Before coming into the Peace Corps I pictured immersion as this beautiful thing filled with fun, and exciting new memories, and being welcomed into this wonderful new culture, with so many glorious stories to tell and share where you basically instantly become a part of that culture and you don’t crave burritos every 5 minutes (sorry, I had to) and you just LOVE every second of it.  And I am here to tell you now, just how wrong I was.  Immersion is hard.  It’s putting yourself out there.  It’s living with fear.  It’s learning how to deal with that fear.  It’s doing things every day that you know are awkward as hell, but it’s the only option you have.  It’s knowing when to agree to disagree.  It’s learning when to disagree.  It’s gathering information about an entire situation from the following five words because they’re the only ones you understand: love, ate, cat, food, did.  Only to later find out that you mistook the word love for died and the cat is in fact dead.  It’s being a kid again who depends on everyone else for everything.  It’s being the mature professional when the middle school boys whistle at you.  It’s being called the rich white girl.  It’s trying to get people to look past your rich white girl status.  It’s watching your mom beat your brother and sister and accepting there’s nothing you can do about it.  It’s having people who don’t have enough food to feed their 5 year old, feed you instead.  It’s having people ask you for money day after day, hour after hour, and you having to turn them down knowing you darn well have enough to give them.  It’s letting kids laugh over and over at your language and letting them make fun of you.  It’s letting the adults do the same.  It’s using the latrine and bathing with a bucket while I update this on my computer.  It’s choking down food that you hate.  It’s appreciating the food that you love.  It’s wanting to feel a part of the community.  It’s realizing that no matter what, you will always be different.  It’s smiling when all you want to do is cry.  It’s crying when all you want to do is smile.  It’s spending all your energy to fit in.  It’s teaching everyone else that it’s okay to not fit in.  It’s having your appearance be analyzed by everyone you meet.  And it’s staying confident in who you are and what you are here for.  Immersion is getting smiles from complete strangers on the worst of days.  It’s having your host sister tell you the only reason she makes fun of you is because she loves you.  It’s having your grandma tell you you’re going to do great things.  It’s understanding what she told you.  It’s making banana bread to get a break from the fried meat, and it’s knowing when it’s completely okay to hoard the banana bread for yourself.  It’s going to the soccer games and cheering crazily with the crowd.  It’s bringing the cows back from the field with your grandpa and watching him protect you every step of the way.  It’s the calls from your host family to check in on how you’re doing.  It’s having kids chase you down the street yelling your name.  It’s having your teenage neighbor tell you how pretty you are.  It’s having someone ask to walk with you instead of criticizing your weird ways.  It’s finding the hidden waterfalls.  It’s believing in yourself.  It’s keeping in mind that progress is gradual.  It’s realizing that sadness is okay.  And that fear is too.  It’s seeking out new opportunities no matter how awkward.  It’s remembering the small things.  Because in the end, the small things are what immersion is about.  And probably what life is about too.  Although, let’s be real.  I’m no expert in life quite yet.  

10 Steps to Killing a Chicken - written by Hercules

As a special Mother's Day gift I decided to go big or go home and seeing as home wasn't an option, big it was.  So I killed a chicken.  The process of killing a chicken goes as follows. 

1) You decide which chicken to kill.  Which I'm still a little uncertain as to how you determine this, some say the oldest, some the youngest, some the biggest, some the meanest, whatever your style. 

2) You capture said chicken.  Harder than it seems.  Generally sneaking from behind is the best tactic. 

3) Hold the chicken upside down.  They are mas o menos limp and tranquilized, still not sure of the science behind this but they are calm.

4) You yank the head to break its neck and within 30 seconds it is dead. Sorry, gross.  

5) Once it's dead you put it in boiling water for about a minute or two to be able to pluck all the feathers out. 

6) You pluck the feathers out while tied up by its feet. 

7) You remove the last hairs by holding it over a fire to burn them off.

8) You take pictures to show all your proud family and friends.

9) You cut it up.  I was told I'm not competent enough to do this part yet, which is probably accurate but here's the final product.  

10) You cook it and you eat it.  

And there you have it, 10 simple steps and you won't be buying chicken breast from the store any longer!  Also, the most supportive sister award goes to Sierra.  Gotta freak someone out :-) love you so much pretty! Love, Hercules

The Not So Blind Date... Part 2

Literally everything moves slowly here.  If you say you’ll be right back that really means an hour.  If you say you’ll be back in an hour it means two hours, and so on.  It’s something I’ve come accustomed to that my boss in the U.S. when I return is just going to have to understand.  The only thing that doesn’t move slowly here is dating.  And thus, Part 2 commences.   To be fair to him, he did tell me he would return this weekend or if not for my sister’s birthday on Monday.  But Thursday is not the weekend! 

Thursday evening I came back around 6 pm after walking the neighborhood to do some exercise or at least so people know I’m here.  The little blondie walking down the street is the talk of the town these days.  And who was sitting on my porch drinking tea with my mom?  Yup, my blind date from two days before.  My immediate thought was NOOOOOOOOOO!!!! I was so tired, I had walked around all that morning chasing people that “don’t believe in vaccinations” for their children that I kid you not, hide in the forest trying to vaccinate them (yes, we were successful with some) but nonetheless was exhausting.  I also went to the fields with my grandpa that afternoon in the hot sun to bring back his cows and some crops to sell.  Then went around asking about a house to live in with my neighbor with no luck.  So I finally show up to my house wanting nothing but to shower and sleep and instead I’m stuck with date part 2.

He I kid you not was wearing an apron, cooking a fish stew (Paraguayans, LOVE their stew) and asking me every 3 minutes to tell him how good it smells and if it needs more salt.  At this point I am still highly unimpressed and starving and not wanting to wait two more hours for him to cook his stupid fish stew.  He continues to constantly pat my back (how weird) and stroke my hair teaching me jokes in Guarani.  Look buddy, I can’t even say the word joke in guarani, I do not want to learn any riddles right now.  So I just pretend I understand them, per usual, and when he asks me why I’m not laughing I laugh.  And move on.  At one point he left the chairs outside to tend to his stew and I threatened my brother to not leave and thankfully he didn’t.  He continues to make weird jokes about Superman that I just don’t understand and ask me weird questions like whether he can come back with me to visit the U.S. and if he can see pictures of my parents and just all up and personal.  That’s Paraguay for ya.

Finally we eat with so many bones in the fish that it is practically impossible to eat but I’m forced to tell him how rico it is.  He asks me to prepare him tortillas the next time.  I say no.  Definitely rude, but I was not in the mood for these gender roles.  I was silent while my brother’s loud obnoxious constant voice finally came in handy.  After the 8^th time he asked if I wanted more I left the table and said I was tired and going to sleep.  And the night ended.  But he keeps talking to my Mom via text message and who knows when he’ll show up next.  Probably tonight.  In which I’m planning an escape route.  

And lucky you, I'm very creepy and snapped a photo while pretending to play solitaire on my phone...

100 Days in Paradise

Today is my 100th day in Paraguay!! Woohoo!!! Its been quite the journey so far, with LOTS of laughter, lots of tears, amazing new friendships, major improvements in Spanish and guarani, and a whole lot of learning.  I still have no idea what my primary projects will be but I can't wait to see what the next two years will bring.  I've summarized my 100 days in pictures that haven't made it to my blog quite yet so enjoy!  Thanks for all of your support and letters, emails, or any other form of communication is always welcome!  Love you!!

Write me! Revised!

Found a post office a lot closer.  If you already sent something to the old one, dont panic.  I can still get it :-)

Arianna Jesanis

CP. SUC Piribebuy 3040

Piribebuy, Paraguay

South America

Telefono: 0981222498

Mandioca

One of the most common foods slash the most common food in Paraguay is mandioca. Cultural lesson in this post so get ready.  What is mandioca you ask? It's a root kinda similar to a potato except way more bland and just straight up carbs.  There's nothing to like, and nothing not to like.  And I kid you not, they eat it with every meal. It grows really easily and quickly, about a year from planting to harvesting and is extremely cheap.  Basically everyone has a relative that has mandioca plants to bring back for the dinner table.  And the lunch table for that matter.  And everyone here is obsessed with it and if you turn it down one time because maybe you don't want to gain 20 pounds they automatically assume you don't like it and will continue to talk about it forever.  But at the very least its a conversation starter when you had nothing else to talk about... "Did you know we don't eat mandioca in the US?" And that just gets them talking for hours. So as part of this whole integration thing I decided I needed to go to the fields to learn how to harvest the mandioca with two very guapa senoras.  And it was super fun, drop dead gorgeous out there, and good exercise.  Yay health sector!  And here are some pictures of my day.  Cultural update for y'all.