The Dark Side of Tranquilopa

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Tranquilopa

One could fall in love with Paraguay for it’s tranquilopa attitude, and many have. “Tranquilopa” is a word that is a mix of Guarani and Spanish and could be translated as “tranquil.” But, the word means a lot more than “tranquility.” It is really a way of saying “life is good,” “I am happy with life,” “I am grateful for what I have and my lot is not bad in the slightest,” and “I am satisfied, fulfilled, calm, peaceful, and enjoying the time given to me.” Tranquilopa means all these things, but it’s not just a saying. The word and its meanings summarize the Paraguayan view on life. Paraguayans are grateful for what they have and they let themselves take time to be happy. They have time for their families, a lot of it. They pass long and short hours with their friends. They always look for the next joke and way to smile. They are laid back, generally calm, and not always searching for the next best thing.

Contrast

As someone who grew up in the hustle and bustle of big dreams, fast and furious work schedules, and endless to-do lists I like the lull of tranquilopa. With practice, I’ve become more patient and accustomed to the slow pace tranquilopa gives to life. I enjoy having time free of an assigned activity in which I can do or not do whatever I want. But, in recent times, I’ve  discovered that tranquilopa has a deep dark side, and it’s not the boredom I sometimes feel drinking terere or chatting and staring into space for hours. I still can’t do nothing as well as my Paraguayan friends, but I’m a lot better at it than when I got here. Doing nothing is an art, and for me it’s a work in progress.

The dark side of tranquilopa is the tendency to turn the other cheek or joke rather than address a negative aspect of life. Tranquilopa sometimes provides an excuse for inaction, and thereby can be a barrier for social change, professional achievement, and project completion. Here are some examples.

Example one

A certain guy is known for being a drunk. He comes to the family party already plastered and drinks more to a point of extreme drunkenness. This man then does one of several things, he could be very rude and hit on whatever women, he could pass out, he could get in a fight, he could piss himself, or he could do something to hurt himself. I’ve seen or heard tell of all these outcomes in Paraguay. With the exception of a stereotypical frat party, most of these actions would be actively addressed in the US, especially because this happened at a party where children were present. But, in Paraguay the most common response is to joke about what happened, and do nothing to prevent it from happening again. Turning problems into a joke is a classic tranquilopa response and is an obstacle in preventing the same thing from happening again.

Example two

Tranquilopa causes one to live in the present, which is good in many ways. Some of us in the US will spend our whole lives overlooking the present, caught in the past and dreaming of the future, until the moment we die and realize that all we wanted was right there in front of us we just forgot to look. But, some things in life require long-term planning to realize. Going to college, getting the career you want (rather than doing just whatever job you can get), starting your own business, completing bigger projects like building a house, saving for larger ticket items like a car or a vacation…the list goes on. And, tranquilopa can deter people from making and following-through on long-term goals. I have found this particularly interesting working with youth. Many of the Paraguayan youth with whom I work struggle to imagine where they will be (in life) in 5 or 10. When I ask what they want to have or do, they give me blank stares. Or, some youth tell me they want to go to college,  but when asked what they want to study, where they want to study, and how they are going to work out the logistics (like paying for it) the students shrug. Tranquilopa creates a sense of security that says, “what is meant to happen will,” and sometimes this idea prevents the efforts necessary to achieve complex goals.

Conclusion

Like most aspects of Paraguayan culture and US culture, I think a half-half mixture of the tranquilopa life philosophy and the US equivalent which I will call “pull yourself up by your bootstraps” would be the ideal for a life of happiness and prosperity. There is no denying the happiness of the people who live by tranquilopa. Paraguayans smile and laugh more than any people I’ve known before, and it’s not because they have it all in term of material goods. But, I also see people in Paraguay suffering more than they have to because tranquilopa is slowing change. Laughing things off rather than fixing them and only thinking about today are good skills, but they must be executed with even-handedness.

Teaching Sex Ed

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I never imagined myself teaching sex education before Paraguay. But since late August sex education, focusing on HIV prevention, has been the center of my work world. And, it is some of the most gratifying work I’ve done in my ever-elongating life. What I enjoy most is watching how my students giggle more knowingly rather than awkwardly and show greater confidence as we work through sexual health topics. During my first class, my students wouldn’t say words like “penis,” but now they can tell me exactly how and for what one uses a condom with only a slight smirk betraying underlying tension.

Just like in the States, many families and schools in Paraguay skim or entirely skip sex education because adults are embarrassed or don’t know how to discuss the topic with youth. As a result, “sex education” is learned through experiment. It’s not that experiment is entirely bad but when it comes to sex, experiment without some basic knowledge and protection can often lead to unwanted pregnancy and sexually transmitted disease.

Because I’m using a program that focuses on HIV prevention, I talk about condoms a lot. As you know, they are the only form of birth control that prevents pregnancy and STDs. Just like in the States, condoms are under utilized in Paraguay even though they are widely available and often free. You might ask, “Why?”

Unlike in the US where there is a poisonous link between condoms and religion in some circles, the officially Catholic country of Paraguay, for the most part, does not view condoms as a negative thing. Myths and mistaken beliefs about condoms are one reason many Paraguayan men are reluctant to use condoms. Myths like one can not feel pleasure during sex when using a condom. Another, and perhaps more important reason, is that many people, both genders, are too embarrassed to talk about sex or get information about how to protect themselves that they just go for it. It takes confidence to get a condom and then ask your partner to use it. And, that’s where I think sex education enters the picture.

Sex education is partly explaining how things work, like how to use a condom, and telling what resources are available, like the different forms of birth control. But, I think almost more importantly sex education is a time to clear the air and help young people become more comfortable talking about their bodies. I like to think that my students don’t only learn how to protect themselves from HIV, but also become self-advocates so that if faced with a partner who asks them to take a sexual risk they don’t like they can stand up for themselves. One can know about all forms of protection and the ins-and-outs of sex, but if one is too nervous to say what he or she wants in the moment it does no good.

 

The Bosses

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One knows when elections in Paraguay are on their way because public works, so long neglected, magically get finished in record time. The muddy street next to my school got cobblestones and it took less than a month. In a few weeks the highway by my house got repaved. The candidates also advertise themselves with signs plastered on every power pole and billboards propped above faithful business fronts. Conversations about what needs to happen in the community become more pointed, people of the same party meet to discuss politics, and candidates start visiting their supporters.

In other words, when elections are around the corner in Paraguay it’s not so different from September of a US election year. But, it is different when the elections are over and everyone is settled into their winning posts.

Paraguay is still a land with a mark of political corruption and political bosses —I guess you can argue the same for the States in some areas. Corruption by nature is often hard to see, especially from my view as an outsider, but Paraguayans grumble about it. The mayor a few towns over from my site was found guilty of taking large sums of money from the town coffers, yet I think someone told me he might run again. While I will leave the judgement of how much corruption there is among politicians in Paraguay to someone who has quantifiable data, political bosses are hard to miss for even someone like me who tries to steer clear of all Paraguayan politics.

Like most places, or at least the limited list of places I know, the best way to get a job in Paraguay is to know someone who has an “in” and who can help one by-pass the black pit of faceless applications. This is particularly important in a high context culture like Paraguay, where who one knows or is related to is often more important than what one achieved. Relationships in Paraguay are built over long conversations that develop slowly. Time saving and directness are not part of the traditional culture. But, in Paraguay there is often a deeper level of connectedness that will win one a good job, not just an okay job, and that is the political boss. If you’re like me and know US history by way of the different immigration movements and development of labor unions, you will know that politicians in the States had a long history of giving out jobs to win votes and saving the best posts for their most fervent supporters. And that is Paraguay today in a nutshell.

I don’t mean to say that without a political connection it is impossible to work in Paraguay, because that is not true, and I can’t speak for all Paraguayan towns when it comes to politics and work. But, this is what I can say. I’ve talked to a mother about her visiting the mayor so her daughter doesn’t have to…and the daughter ends up with a job in the city government. I know families that tow the party line and get side jobs in the local government, to supplement the money they already earn. I have seen families take steps to ensure that someone from their family is always at the political meetings and that the candidates they support pay them a visit to hear the family’s ideas. I don’t yet know first hand what will come of the political meetings and candidate visits, but if unemployed members of those families get work when their candidate wins, that will make me think a political boss had something to do with it.

 

You’re not fat, so why do you exercise?

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Paraguayans in my site love to comment on my weight periodically…you know just in case I’m not aware of the current state of my own body. And as much as they like to say I’ve gained or lost weight, I’ve stayed about the same since I got here. Well, until recently. I turn 26 this I year and I decided that because I’m now closer to 30 than 20 I should stop putting off my body goals. In July, I started to take steps to lose weight by my birthday in October. At the same time, a friend asked me to run a 10 km race with her for fun. The race brought back my running bug, which I lost sometime in 2012. The point being two fold. First, I’ve started controlling what I eat and how much. Second, rather than just exercising in my house—which I did consistently for most of my service—I started running. Now, everyone in my community can see me exercising.

I think most people know the basic math of weight: if you eat fewer calories than you burn you lose weight, if you eat the number of calories you burn you maintain your weight, and if you eat more calories than you burn you gain weight. Depending on what you are doing weight gain can be muscle or fat. That said, I think many people in Paraguay and the US overestimate the power of exercise in this equation. If you want to lose weight the most effective way to do it is to watch what you eat. Why? Because it is hard to do enough exercise to burn more calories than you consume if you are eating many high-calorie foods.

We are now in late August. I am a little skinner, and Paraguayans like to tell me so, and they attribute it to my exercise. Well, actually, first they say it is because I am in love. A common Paraguayan wives’ tale is that you lose weight when you’re in love (I always thought it was the opposite…). But, after I assure them that I am still single they turn to the exercise excuse. While I was visiting a señora the other day she asked, “You’re not fat, so why do you exercise?” The question struck me. I do link exercise and body image, but for me the connection is muscle tone rather than jiggle or skin-and-bones not exactly weight. And, I exercise more because I feel like crap if I don’t, not because I’m worried about muscle tone. The señora’s question made me think about exercise theoretically, and why so many people don’t do it.

Obviously, it takes effort and time to exercise, but after considering those things I think there is a greater force preventing people from being motivated to exercise. And I think that force relates to how society talks about exercise. Many people, in Paraguay and the US, regulate physical activity to the castigation of the overweight and the amusement of a special elite class of “fit” people. Just as my señora friend’s question suggested, exercise is considered by many to have the single purpose of helping one lose weight. I see this belief as dangerous.

If I had been quicker on my feet I would have explained the following to my señora friend: You don’t have to be fat to exercise. You don’t have to be special. Nor do you have to do a specific type of exercise; all exercise is not equal but most ways of exercising are better than not exercising. Exercising helps your heart, your bones, your brain…everything.

I can’t remember what I told that señora, but I see a greater opportunity, based on her question, for public health wonks. Maybe we should focus less on telling people to exercise and focus more on changing how people talk about physical activity. After all, exercise is for everyone not as a punishment or as a chore but because our bodies need to move to work correctly. Exercise should not be thought of as extra. It should be lumped in with things like vitamins, necessary and required.

Ghost Buildings

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On the 2-hour bus ride from my home to the Peace Corps office are many sights that have come to symbolize Paraguay in my mind, but the most vivid is a vacant lot it which stands several incomplete apartment buildings. Those buildings don’t have roofs or windows and the walls are unfinished. The brick, mud, and cement skeleton of what might have been the home of generations of families grays with age. The grass grows tall and a sign that probably announced the development project when someone broke ground on the construction is too faded to read.

When I first saw the buildings I thought of a war-zone or a devastating fire. I wondered, “What happened here?” I still don’t know why that complex stands destitute until the rain washes the structures away, but I now know enough about Paraguay to be confident it wasn’t a tragedy that condemned the place. Most likely, the person funding the project ran out of money and walked away. Just as was the case with so many little houses I see scattered about when I travel—some with finished walls, some with partial roofs.

With little access to credit and varying access to good-paying jobs across the country improvement projects and development move slow. Paraguay is a place of dreams. A dreamland where the bridge between reality and aspiration is still being built. Some people are able to paddle across the gap, and some decide to dream on and live as they always have. Paraguay is a land of opportunity, but only the lucky and the determined make it big.

They Tell Me It Was Different Then

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Paraguayans don’t usually talk about the dictatorship in Paraguay that ended in 1989. It’s a taboo subject. There are many reasons why one can’t talk about it, but one important reason is that Paraguayans are fiercely proud of their country and will not criticize themselves in an extreme way. Of course Paraguayans now, like all citizens of democracies, grumble about their new government, corruption among politicians, and what the government is not doing.

Despite the general silence, there is one way señoras talk about the dictatorship; it is usually in a positive light. It relates to security. Señoras are fearful of crime and degeneration of youth in their country—especially the older señoras. They think that women can not and should not walk around alone after dark. Regardless of whether it is late or not. Now, in some parts of Paraguay, like certain barrios in Asuncion, no one should walk around alone late at night. But, if one compares Paraguay to just about any other country in South America, Paraguay is pretty safe. I’m not suggesting that one should throw caution to the wind, but in the quiet towns of Paraguay usually señoras’ fear exaggerates the danger of nighttime. Darkness falls early in the winter months. It’s hard to be home by 5 pm even in  tranquil rural Paraguay.

When señoras talk to me about their concerns for security and the development of youth sometimes they reference the dictatorship. They tell me that things were different then. They tell me there was hardly any crime. They tell me that it was safer and the government was in control. I imagine they are right, but I am not well informed and I wasn’t here to know. Among the few pre-1989 Paraguayan history facts I know is that there was a curfew. I also read that people died if they criticized the government during that time. I will leave judgement of the government before Paraguayan democracy to history experts. However, every time a señora tells me “It was different then” in a hushed voice that is not critical or supportive my mind stirs with questions. Some questions can not be asked. And sometimes after I’ve narrowly avoided being walked home unnecessarily just after the sun sets, I wonder what it was like in Paraguay “then.”

 

Conversations With My 2-Year-Old Neighbor

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Sometimes my 2-year-old neighbor decides to pop over for a visit. She’s in that wonderful stage where she asks questions about everything…usually more than many times.

Our conversations usually start with my bed. I live in a one-room apartment and my bed takes up more space than any other thing I own. It also has a mosquito net, thanks to Peace Corps’ effort to limit my chance of getting dengue.

Here’s one particularly memorable visit, boiled down:

“Is this your bed?” the little girl asked.

“Yes,” I said.

“Do you sleep here?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said. She then asked about the mosquito net, which we’d talked about close to 10 times before, and I answered.

“Do you sleep here alone?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said, starting to smile because I know what the next question will be.

“Why?” the little girl asked.

I don’t really answer. She asked about where my father and mother are…Where do they live? Why aren’t they here?

We then move on to the things on my table. She asked about a chap stick, the pens, some jars. After I explain each thing she exclaimed, “How pretty!”

On that visit I was in the middle of making lunch, which was salad and beet juice. I already knew from previous conversations that she doesn’t like veggies and most fruit. I knew she wouldn’t want my food, so I didn’t offer to share. I pulled out my dejected blender. My blender is held together by duck tape because there are huge cracks in the plastic. Surprisingly (wink), despite my half-hearted washing of the blender after every use, the base is grubby. It takes a special trick to make the top click into the base. I like to think it only works for people who love it.

“My mother has a blender like that,” my little neighbor said.

“Really? That’s great,” I said. I started to make juice.

“How pretty!” she said about the blender.

I look at her with fake surprise. I glance at the blender. “It’s a little ugly, isn’t it?” I asked.

A smirk like those kids wear after doing something they were told not to do in front of the person who told them not to spread across my neighbor’s face. Her little baby cheeks bulged and her eyes sparkled. “Yes,” she said and giggled.

The conversation ended there; she started repeating questions and then her mother called her for lunch. Now, every time I use or look at my blender I see her little smirk and it makes me smile. I learned that even an old, rundown kitchen appliance can add a little happiness to life if you let it.

Crosses in the Sand

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One day as I was walking up to one of my favorite señora’s house I saw her out in her yard chopping at the ground with a machete. Now, machetes are perhaps the most used tool in Paraguay, and it’s quite normal to see people just casually walking around with them. I was not particularly surprised she was using one. I thought she was weeding or mowing her patio…a common use of machetes. But as I got closer, I realized her motion she was not right for weed control. Finally, as I stood next to her I saw a zillion little crosses that she’d etched in the sand.

“What are you doing?” I asked, not hiding my confusion. Paraguayans are nice about explaining things, and by this point the people with whom I hang out most in my community are quite used to my questions, which I’m sure seem ridiculous to them.

“I’m drawing crosses,” she said.

“I see that, why?” I said.

“Ants. They were all over. You know they come out with the rain. I didn’t see them and they bit me when I walked to the sink!” she said. Her clothes washing sink is outside. The patio, like most in my community, is sand.

“Oh, I see them. Wow, there are a lot,” I said. The mean biting ants covered part of her patio, moving around like electrons. Between the rains the ants come out in droves. They can turn your whole floor or wall black or brown with a moving army of little six-legged devils waiting to bite you. Some Paraguayans call them a free cleaning service. After the rain they will pass through your house, or whatever path they choose, and eat all the dead bugs and delicious refuse in their path. “What do the crosses do?”

“They stop the ants,” she said.

“How?” I asked.

“The ants won’t cross the line of the crosses. Once you draw the crosses they leave quickly. Look, they are already leaving,” she said.

“Why?” I asked. I knew I sounded like a toddler in that questioning stage of life, but there is always a deeper answer to why my Paraguayan friends do things I don’t understand.

The señora straightened her back and looked at her handy work. She squinted at me. “Ants are creatures of Satan. The crosses send them away,” she said. The conversation about ants ended there as we prepared to drink terere.

The ants moved. Within twenty minutes of drawing the crosses not an ant wandered the area where they had once swarmed. I told myself that the x’s must disturb their communications signals—I read or heard somewhere that ants use their antennae to communicate to each other. I’m not sure if that’s the right explanation either, however.

The lore of señoras has given Paraguay a special place in my heart. I love stories. Often the ends that señoras predict come to pass even if their reasoning and science have different explanations. Of course, some beliefs create obstacles for health and equality to reign, especially when it relates to sexual health, but Paraguayans have a trick for everything. I’m surprised how often ideas I think are ridiculous at first work.

 

Breaking the Mold

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Origin: Ponderings on a rainy day in Paraguay.

Subject:  A limited attempt to justify my actions.

You know how when you put water in an ice tray, bag, or anything and then freeze it the water expands? If you’re not careful, the ice will break the container as it freezes or you end up with not-so-aesthetic ice cubes.

I feel like freezing water—the mold trying to keep me in shape will not hold up. I’m already overflowing, just imagine what’s going to happen when I solidify. Living and working abroad is the freezer, I’m the water molecule, and the molds are who I think I am and who I try to be. I often view myself as a homebody, but a homebody that tends to try to live more like a cosmopolite. Thinking about ice cubes made me realize, however, that I don’t fit nicely into the homebody or cosmopolite types.

Familiar. Routine. Known. Planned. Those are all things that I’ve always thought were important, and without which I’m usually harried, uncomfortable, and general miserable. But, at the same time, my fondest memories archive events that arose from spontaneity and going beyond my routine. And, I often do things to leave my routine behind: studying abroad for a time in high school, leaving Vermont to study in Washington, DC for college, and joining the Peace Corps. This juxtaposition in my personality—being comfortable only with the familiar but wanting and taking action to explore the unknown—started to make me wonder if I’m a masochist.

Don’t worry, after a thoroughgoing investigation I can say with certain confidence I am not a masochist. I just misjudged my character. I will explain.

When I left for a semester in Spain my junior year of high school people said it would change my life, and that I’d have amazing memories forever. When I left for college, people said to cherish my time studying because those years would be my best. When I left for the Peace Corps, people justified my leaving by reassuring me that the experience would be profound and the pinnacle in my life. I believed them, and now I think those thoughts were based at least partially on flawed assumptions.

All those times add up to more or less 6 years of my life. I am 25 and I want to live for a while yet. Were people telling me that my best years are now almost over? That might be the greatest tragedy that fate’s devised. I won’t accept that my life is a tragedy. What people meant to say, I think, was that studying abroad, college, and Peace Corps would be awesome because they would change up my routine and make life a fresh adventure.

“A fresh adventure”, that is the point of this rant. I like routine and familiar because they are easy. I periodically leave behind most everything that fits into the known not because I want to torture myself, but because comfort isn’t enough for me. I am on the trail of something else, and if I have to be uncomfortable sometimes to get there, it is a worthy sacrifice.

I do not think I could handle the life of a nomad; I’m just not that flexible. Nor do I think a fresh adventure is based entirely on changing location. However, I am reminded of the quote that pops into my mind more than any other as I go about my doings, “You have more power over your life than you think you do.”

In my heart I know I can not be happy just talking about the old times. Trying to accept the ordinary makes me restless. I am not a great adventurer or the bravest person, but I’m not scared to expand. I don’t want to just remember glory days, I want to be ever on the path of times worth retelling. That’s what I realized. Changing things up is scary, if it were easy everyone would do it. There’s always a chance for a real flop. But, since I can remember my favorite stories have always been those of people who took a leap. There is a beautiful, quaint simplicity to the stories of people who have spent all of their lives in the same place. But, there is something exciting and fantastic about those who can call more than one place home and who can say they’ve dabbled in many things. Molds are a way of setting a baseline. They’re a suggestion. As all expectations, molds are something to be surpassed.

 

The Sly English Teacher

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Now I’m happy to teach English in my community, but I was against it in the beginning. I am acutely aware that there are many more pressing things for youth in my community to learn than English, from reading Spanish well to using a condom correctly. And, even if I were the best teacher in the world (very doubtful) my students could not master English studying just 1 or 2 hours a week. Language just doesn’t work that way. But, English lessons are one of the things people in my community want; and I’m here to serve them.

So, then, the question arose: If I have to teach English and my students aren’t attacking it with the tenacity necessary to become fluent, how can I most effectively use our time together? Some volunteers turn to games. Games are a good solution, but I struggled with them.

My solution came when I realized that I was looking at teaching English all wrong. My English classes aren’t about English. (But, I like to think they will give those kids who choose to pursue more English study later an advantage.) My English classes are about mentoring and sharing my culture. Defense: We also discuss English grammar and vocabulary.

How do I start the cultural sharing? Music. In my English class, we usually listen to a song in English, talk about what it means, and pronounce the words. Listening to music is a good language-learning activity, but that’s not actually why I do it. I try to pick songs for a reason. Half the time I just pick a song because I know my students will like it, but the other songs I choose because they have an interesting cultural message. “Dear Future Husband” by Meghan Trainor was a successful choice—the youth even like the song. Most of my students are young women. It was neat to talk about how women don’t have to fall into the stereotypical role of “the perfect wife” when they marry.

“Hard to Love” by Lee Bruce was a silly chance to talk about how we should say “thank you” to people when they do things for us. Most women in Paraguay are expected to clean and deal with food while men (not all!) sit and watch. I’ve seen young men get up from the table, leave their plate as a disaster for some woman to pick up, and not even say “thanks” for the meal (rage almost not repressed). I also used “Hard to Love” to talk briefly about the differences between how Christianity is practiced in Paraguay and the US.

As I get to know my students better, they feel more comfortable asking questions about the States or about my life. Sometimes the questions make me laugh: Is it true that people in the States wear their clothes once and then throw them out? Bit-by-bit I think they are forming a more realistic notion of the States, and at least they are opening their eyes to the idea that not all people do things the same way.

In the end, English class isn’t just a time to talk verbs and articles. It’s also a chance for my students to talk about life. It’s an open space that encourages learning.