The New Patriotism

[Peace Corps volunteers wanted]

 

Not unlike the dove that gave the olive fame

With diligent wings glides from land to land

The volunteer’s hope-seeped, motives stand

A mighty force with a core, whose flame

Is the imprisoned compassion, and in the name

Of service and understanding. Opens her hand

To send world-wide welcome; her mission

Unite cultures by seeing what’s different and the same.

“Keep power struggle, you greedy pomp!” cries she.

In many languages. “Give me your dreamers, your hopeful,

Your flexible adventurers yearning to breathe free,

The unsatisfied refuse of your corporate cubicle.

Send these, the determined, resilient to me,

I know the secret to the world’s pull!”

 

“Give me your unafraid, your mentally indomitable,

Your quivering intellectuals yearning to see,

The soul-seeking refuse of your successful label.

Send these, the patient, tempest-ready to me,

I send my call to all those who are able!”

 

“Give me your creative, your quick thinkers

Your unwavering looking to redefine prosperity

The motley refuse of your first-world tinkers

Send these, the sponges, life-long learners to me

I open my door to those who can be linkers!”

What Does “Third World” Mean?

When thinking about the global community we throw around terms like “third world” or “developing world.” Coming from the first world, I’ve often heard those terms with an undertone of pity. The terms have a distributive property and rather than just being used to categorize a political territory they are used to describe people. And when these terms are distributed to people they usually mean: unhappy, uneducated, dirty, and disadvantaged.

It’s taken me almost 9 months in Paraguay to wrap my head around what “third world” actually means, because the first thing I noticed when coming to Paraguay is that Paraguayans aren’t unhappy, uneducated, and dirty. Actually, Paraguayans are almost annoyingly happy most of the time. The Paraguayan approach is simple: bad things happen, life goes on. It takes only a little time in Asunción to meet several trilingual Paraguayans and it takes no more searching than it does among the regular US population to find a Paraguayan who can have an intellectual conversation about politics, religion, sex, and health. Americans are ragamuffins compared to Paraguayans—unless you iron your underwear and know how to wear every accessory that exists in all the same color at the same time and make it look good, you ain’t got nothing on the average Paraguayan woman.

That leaves disadvantaged. Can people be disadvantaged or is it the system that limits them? My conclusion: “third world” is actually a term to describe a country’s systems and infrastructure. It cannot be used to describe people. Inefficient systems or poor infrastructure do limit opportunities and make life harder. However, people from third world countries are NOT an inferior people—that is to say that if the same person was born in the US rather than Paraguay they are just as well equipped to make a good life there as an American born in America.

So, third world can be used to describe systems and infrastructure. What does that mean in Paraguay? That means that there are communities without running water or there are families that use holes in the ground as toilets. It means that even if a community has running water, the water is liable to not work for a couple hours many days. It means that the power goes out all the time—usually for only a couple of moments or hours. It goes out when it rains. It goes out when the janky wires break or the breaker boxes explode (figuratively) because they weren’t designed to take the voltage they are handling. It goes out when too many people use electricity—like when it’s hell-hot and time for bed.

It means dirt roads are the norm and drainage systems are nonexistent, so when it rains not going to school is a safety precaution. It means that political bosses give jobs and bribes keep people out of the justice system. It means time in school is more loosely associated with learning than perhaps it should be. It means that there are laws and then there are those things that get a person in trouble—the latter is far scarcer than the former. It means that dirt bikes are all over because, well, they’re the only vehicles that can travel on all the roads. It means that people throw or burn their trash because most communities don’t have trash collection. It means that people wait for government handouts because the average person has no access to credit…or even a savings account. It means that even though healthcare is public in Paraguay local clinics don’t have all the medications or specialists the community needs. Some people simply go without because they don’t have the money for bus fare to travel to a medical facility that has what they need.

Third world does not mean helpless people who need to be saved. It means countries whose systems are underequipped to fulfill the needs of their population and because of this the people in those countries don’t benefit from all the modern conveniences our era has to offer. It is not a permanent description. Countries that are third world today are working to shake that status, and they are making progress. The fact that I can complain about my running water not working and that I don’t get Internet in my house means that process has been made in Paraguay. If I had lived in my community not so many years ago, I would have complained about hauling water from a well and not dreamed of Internet.

Fans Are Not

Fans are not just machines that move air

They are a breath of fresh air in the heaviest of heat

If you cower in their wake

You might, MIGHT, not sweat so much you have to change your shirt

But, you probably will

Fans are not just machines that move air

They are sound machines

When those neighbors insist on sleeping with bachata piru playing

Or like to blast cumbia and polka at odd hours of the pre-dawn morning

Neutralizers, battles avoided

Fans are not just machines that move air

They are clothes dryers

It’s deadly sunny, except when you need clothes real quick

Then it’s damp and moldy giving everything a musty smell

Fans don’t get rid of the smell but they do evaporate water

Fans are not just machines that move air

They are mosquito protectors

All the mosquitos in my house are assholes, they insist on biting

Luckily their wings are weak, WEAK

Blow fan blow

Fans are not just machines that move air

They are refreshers

Set them up at one side of your house

And they’ll push all the air out the other side

Savior, my little hovel gets stale every time I leave for a couple of hours

Fans are not just machines that move air

They are greater than sliced bread

Make clams seem depressed

Ingenious is what they are

Brilliant. Hope. Essential.

Send Me Good Mojo

The only concrete project I have due to my boss is a community study, which is jargon for saying a report on what health and sanitation challenges there are in my site as well as what services are already in place to help resolve those challenges. (Hint: Leading challenges in my site are high blood pressure, diabetes, and being overweight. We have a health post and some community commissions as well as a school.)

I find the study interesting, except there’s just one part that I really don’t want to do: a census. I have to go to the homes of 50 families and ask them 6-pages of questions about their family’s health.

If you could send me some good mojo from now until November 17, when it’s due, to get me through the census that would be great, because here’s how I see it:

“The time has come,” the Peace Corps said,

“To talk of many things

Of censuses—of cold-call visits—and interviews

Of conversations where you must pull strings

And why the community needs a volunteer

And whether your project ideas have wings

 

“But wait a bit,” the Volunteer cried,

“Before we have our chat;

For some of us have a great fear,

And much verguenza to do all that!”

“No hurry!” said the Peace Corps

The Volunteer thanked them where they sat.

 

“A community study,” the Peace Corps said,

“Is what we chiefly need;

Projects and flexibility besides

Are very good indeed—

Now if you’re ready, Volunteer dear,

We can proceed.”

 

“But not all at once!” the Volunteer cried,

Turning a little blue.

“After such determination, that would be

A dismal thing to do!”

“The study is due,” the Peace Corps said.

“November seventeenth for review.

 

“Or you won’t get vacation approved

And that wouldn’t be very nice!”

The health sector said nothing but

“You can do it, but don’t roll the dice

I wish you wouldn’t procrastinate–

Or I’ll have to read it twice!”

 

“It seems a shame,” the Peace Corps said,

“To play the volunteers such a trick,

After we’ve brought them out so far,

And made them trot so quick!”

The health sector said nothing but

“Don’t let too much time tick!”

 

“I weep for you,” the Peace Corps said:

“I deeply sympathize.”

Followed by quotes about service and development

Of the cliché size,

Holding their performance review

As though it were a prize.

 

“O Volunteer,” said the health sector,

“You’ve had a pleasant run!

Shall you be turning in your census now?”

But answer came there none—

And this was scarcely odd, because

The Volunteer preferred any project to the assigned one.

Home

My little house on top of the hill, my community, has become my home. I’m not sure exactly when it happened, but it’s happened.

I know because when I leave site I wonder what’s going on in my community. I worry that my house will be infested with mold or bugs, so far I’ve been lucky, when I get back. When I’m sleeping somewhere else, I think about my own bed with its silly mosquito net that is too small. I miss my milk over a banana, peanuts, and chia seeds breakfast. I miss my own yerba and my music.

I’ve known for a long time before Paraguay that I can endure almost anything as long as I have a home base in which I feel safe and happy. My apartment, with its brick-red walls and high, cobwebby ceiling is just that base. Maps, postcards, quotes, and to-do lists are plastered on the walls. Tons of empty bottles, leftover from a previous volunteer, clutter the corners of my one-room home. Nothing but furniture legs touch the constantly damp cement floor—even my shoes have raised resting places.

I have my normal walking route, my favorite house-front store, and the families I like to visit most. I have my places of work, and at least most of the youth in the community know who I am—I like to think their parents know too.

I have my free-time activities; I finished drafting a novel the other day. I have the same feeling that my work is never done and I could be doing more—just like the over-achiever in me felt in the States. I’m getting better at sitting and just drinking terere.

I have to pinch myself to believe it, but this little nook of Paraguay, a place I almost didn’t know existed less than a year ago, is my home.

A Selfish Sadness

Two volunteers from my group left Paraguay recently to return to the States—one might come back, but until then we’re down two (plus the two who already left). Those who left filled a specific niche in my group of volunteers that will remain empty until we all finish our service.

Peace Corps has turnover just like any job, so these departures from my group may seem routine. But, they don’t feel that way to me, one of those left behind.

I know when volunteers leave it’s because they are moving onto something better for them. I also know that those of us staying in Paraguay have good reason to carry on proudly. Despite this knowledge, it’s a confidence shaker each time someone decides to go.

When volunteers leave early, I find myself asking if I still believe in what I’m doing. I find myself wondering if Peace Corps is truly what I want. I feel a selfish sadness—selfish because I question whether their absence will impact my ability to finish my own 27 months. It’s a selfish sadness because I know they are returning to the States where they have their family, their friends from before, and their mother culture while I’m staying in Paraguay where I have none of those things.

As one might imagine, the sting of losing a group member fades with time. However, with these two recent cases a doubt as to whether or not the circumstances of the departure could have been avoided lingers. This doubt has come to faintly tint my view of the Peace Corps. The departures are a reminder of how I am facing many of the challenges of life in Paraguay alone. My feeling of aloneness led to loneliness. The loneliness will pass, but I don’t think the semiconscious feeling of aloneness will.

Making This Real Life

When I’m speaking with other volunteers it’s easy to use phrases like “In real life…” or “If I were in the States…” to describe what I would do or think if I were living normally. With these phrases I infer that my time in Paraguay isn’t real life or that while I am in Paraguay I’m not who I really am.

Two years is a long time to take a break from “real life.” With this in mind, logical questions are: What makes Peace Corps life feel like it’s not part of my real life? And, how do I go about making Peace Corps part of my real life?

The first question is easy to answer. I left everything I had in the State to move to a country that has fewer resources and amenities. In addition, in my case, the life I had before the Peace Corps has ceased to exist forever. I gave up some freedoms by coming here and every day I’m fighting to navigate a culture that’s new to me. Further, I have to commutate my thoughts using a language I don’t use to think—things get lost in translation all the time.

Okay, so if that is what makes life in Paraguay feel unreal, how do I make it real? I started by changing my rhetoric and remembering that the things that were important in the US are still very relevant here. I tried to stop using phrases like, “In the States…” I also looked to incorporate the things that made me happy in the US into my life in Paraguay.

A huge breakthrough in my life in Paraguay was being invited to go to zumba classes with two Paraguayan friends, women my age, in my community. We have zumba class 3 times a week. A Paraguayan dance teacher teaches the class. It’s not a zumba you’ll find in the States—we dance mostly to cumbia and reggaeton—but it’s something I would love to do anywhere I live. There’s more to making life real, but zumba sure is a wonderful start.

Great Moments With Other Volunteers

Last week, I attended a training with the other volunteers in my group. On the second night, we had a bonfire and talent show. While we made s’mores and watched the moon rise, I thought about how lucky I was to be in Paraguay with such talented people.

For the talent show some people sang in Guaraní, others in Spanish, and most of us sang in English. There was guitar and ukulele. Volunteers performed solos, some duets, and some trios. We sang some songs as a group—but not hippie songs like you might be imagining. We sang mostly pop songs, though there were some folk songs. No kumbaya.

One volunteer presented her comic of what jobs each of us would have if our group worked for a commercial airline—G-44 Airlines. (She’s thinking about coming out with a sequel: Our roles if we worked at a mall). Another volunteer danced.

When I was thinking about joining the Peace Corps I spoke with several returned volunteers. They each said that one huge reason to do the Peace Corps is the people—the other volunteers. But, these returned volunteers had a hard time explaining how volunteers made going halfway around the world worth it—just like I have a hard time explaining why high school sucked and college was pretty cool.

I’ve come to the same conclusion as those returned volunteers: Getting to know other volunteers is an amazing part of the Peace Corps experience.

What makes volunteers an interesting group?

Volunteers are from different parts of the US (and beyond) and diverse backgrounds. We each have different ways of being, different priorities, and different dreams. But, we are all doers. We are all adventurers. We are all here for some reason. Some volunteers want to change the world. Some are using the Peace Corps to uncover who they really are. Some volunteers are in it for the challenge. Some volunteers see the Peace Corps as a stepping-stone in their career.

How do other volunteers add to the Peace Corps experience?

Conversations

Volunteers have a breadth of knowledge that leads to interesting conversations. Rather that trying to fit into common conversation themes—my most frequent experience in DC: bars, football, TV…—we like to talk about multifaceted topics. We also tend to listen well, so even if we don’t’ know much about what a person is talking about we’ll give people the time to describe their passions.

I’ve only been here 7ish months and my conversations have ranged from music to gender and string theory to recycling.

Dreams

All volunteers are going somewhere. For some, that somewhere might be heavily tied to their work. Some want to dedicate themselves to international development or education. For others, that somewhere relates to traveling the world or creating a family. Volunteers, regardless of their dreams, take action. They don’t wait for people to do things for them or for life to pass; they’re movers and shakers.

Parties

Like all good worker bees, volunteers know how to take time off. We party. But, it’s not just the crazy parties that you see in the Great Gatsby—shallow. We perform music, we dance, we talk, and we strategize about how to make life better.

Dedication

Volunteers are guapo. We get stuff done. Yeah, sometimes we have hard days when we can’t leave our houses. But, no matter how hard things seem, we bounce back. Most of us are here trying to make friendships and improve lives in whatever small way we can.

Insight

Volunteers are flexible and observant. We have opinions but we’re ready to change them when we get more information. We don’t just want to know about other people and other cultures; we want to understand what makes them tick. We take time to reflect and digest. We ask questions and look for answers so we can deepen our knowledge of our host country, our lives, and ourselves.

Creativity

Daily encounters with challenges we never imagined we’d face help bring out the creativity in each of us. Volunteers make art out of trash, develop games that make kids excited to learn about dental health, and get community-wide projects done despite political crevasses that have divided our communities for generations.

The Time We’re Given

My training earlier this week went as well as my travels there. It was a 3-day training where the first day and a half we worked with a contact we brought from our community and the second day and a half was a capacitation for volunteers in my group. I found the time, uninterrupted and focused, with my contact invaluable.

The head nurse at my health post came to the training with me. She, like the other nurses at my health post, is extremely nice and hardworking. I know her pretty well in a professional sense because I’ve spent a lot of time at the health post since coming to my site. Despite feeling welcome at the health post, I’ve been unsure how to start projects with them and I hoped that the training would give me a jumpstart.

The best part of the training was having focused time to talk with my contact about the needs in the community and possible project we could do to help address those needs. I liked having time to talk with her one-on-one outside of the distractions and pressure of our community because it enable us to talk in-depth and about topics we’ve never before been able to discuss.

It was interesting to learn what health needs she sees in the community and to hear about the ideas she has for projects. One topic that was surprising to me was the jail in my site.

In my site there are two large jails, and the national government is planning to build several other jails and make my community the biggest jail town in the country. The members of my community tend to see this as a negative thing. However, my contact sees it as an opportunity. She thinks the community will benefit from all the jobs the jails will bring. She also thinks that the jail has not impacted life here as much as the community claims. As my contact explained, the community uses the jail as a scapegoat so they can avoid addressing problems in the community. An example of this is HIV. A number of people have HIV in the community, but rather than focus on prevention the community tends to blame its presence on the jail and do nothing.

We outlined a project: Creating a recreational space in the community. Currently there are no parks, and the only real spaces for exercise are soccer fields. We think that creating a park with basic gym equipment—Paraguay has outdoor stationary bikes and walking machines in some of its city parks—would provide women and children a way to exercise more easily. Soccer tends to be a men’s domain and not an accessible form of regular exercise for women. Making a space to exercise might help address some health concerns in the community like high blood pressure, diabetes, and being overweight.

Time will tell whether our idea of creating an exercise space will blossom into a real project. To make the space we must work with two different community commissions and solicit money and/or exercise equipment from the government. Despite the uncertainty of that project, for the first time since coming here, I feel that there are concrete project opportunities for me with the health post starting to materialize.

The Kindness of Strangers

Earlier this week I had a Peace Corps training which took place in a location that I hadn’t been to yet.

In the US, the world of Google maps and cars, that wouldn’t have been a big deal. I’d have printed my directions and map and drove there. But, as a volunteer in Paraguay my only option was to take public buses.

I started gathering directions about two weeks in advanced. I started by asking the ladies I worked with—I asked two different nurses for directions at separate times. And then I asked a family I visited for directions. Why so many times?

First off, there is usually more than one way to get somewhere—and actually I got 2 different sets of directions.

Second, traveling in Paraguay involves looking for landmarks, not road signs or addresses, so it can be hard to know which mango tree or which church I need to get off at when I’ve never seen them. I figure my chance of recognizing the landmarks increases every time they are described to me.

Finally, I couldn’t pronounce the name of the town to which I was traveling. I wrote the name of the town and site where the training was on my hand before setting out, just in case.

In the end, a stranger rescued me. Before transferring from my second to third bus of the trip I asked the bus driver about my destination. He answered me politely, but I had the sinking feeling that I was going to have to ask the next bus driver a couple times to get the information I needed. But, as I jumped from the bus a woman said I should sit with her and she’d help me.

She is a nurse at the health center in the town next to my community. And, in true Paraguayan style, she asked me if I had kids, how old I was, and if I was single before asking my name. She made space for me in the line as we got on bus, told me about the towns we passed through, and made sure I got off exactly at the right spot. I am quite sure I would have gotten lost without her.

Helping me didn’t require much effort on her part, but it transformed my trip from a nerve-wracking experience to a pleasant one. As I walked down the cobblestone road to our training compound I was thankful and thought about how such a little act of kindness made such a difference in my life that day. I might complain about any number of things in Paraguay, but Paraguayan sure get the little things right.