Wednesday, December 28, 2011

An Effort to Make Sense


It’s amazing what can happen in a day.

Yesterday, I lost my dear friend Bryan Raybon to cancer. He recently turned 33 years old, two years older than I will be tomorrow. I’m still trying to figure out what all of this means to me.
After finding out, I was at a loss for what to do. I couldn’t cry. I couldn’t scream. I just felt numb, unable to process this thing that had happened so far away and yet meant so much to me. I went for a long walk in the chacras to try and get some clarity, but found none. Understandably distracted when I returned home, I had forgotten that my host family had planned to celebrate my birthday yesterday since we wouldn’t be able to celebrate it on my actual birthday. I was reminded by my host niece, Beri Luz, running into my room singing “Feliz Cumpleaños” and excitedly talking about my cake waiting for me downstairs. Trying to regroup, I headed downstairs to try and clear my head and was immediately touched by the little celebration my host family put together, complete with beautifully arranged plates of delicious food and several rounds of “Feliz Cumpleaños” before we all devoured the gorgeous chocolate cake they had purchased. The only thing was, my buddy and host nephew, Cesir, was nowhere to be found and no one knew where he was. I gave them all hugs before heading out the door to a scheduled meeting I had with a youth dance group to talk with them about “Gringos Útiles.”
I had been torturously waiting all of December for someone in my site to show me some form of motivation toward my project. After delivering my shpeel about what I hoped to accomplish with “Gringos Útiles,” the organizer of the group, a man I’m coming to respect exponentially every time I hang out with him asked if he could include his group in my plans. He wanted to offer workshops to begin teaching other youth in town how to do the traditional dances that his group has become so well-known for. This was exactly what I was hoping would happen as a result of my work here, but was expecting it much farther down the line. Of course, I was floored and made arrangements to begin incorporating his group into my plans for January.
While with this group, a car drove up driven by my soccer coach friend with three guys from my soccer team in the back seat, one of which was Cesir. They wanted me to hop in and head off with them, but I explained that I was in the middle of something and it would have to wait. They said they’d be back in 20 mins. Needless to say, I was confused and they wouldn’t provide any details.
I finished with the youth group and phoned the coach. He came and picked me up and took me to a restaurant in town where a group of guys from my soccer team were all sitting at a table. I greeted all of them and noticed a giant cake on the table. The coach told me that Cesir had informed him my birthday was coming up and that they wanted to do something special for me. I looked at Cesir and he just smiled and asked me whether I was surprised. Overwhelmed by their kindness, I wasn’t sure what to say. In my best bad Castellano, I thanked them all for being my friends and for allowing me to be a part of their team. It was a truly beautiful gesture and I felt extremely grateful once again for this beautiful community I’ve been gifted with.
The last time I talked to Bryan on the phone was particularly difficult. The person I knew sounded different. He was understandably bitter about what was happening to him, having to plan his own memorial in his early 30s. He was in a lot of pain, not wanting to overly dope himself up with painkillers. The sarcastic wit and merciless sense of humor I had come to know and love and that helped us use laughter as a way of processing the horrors of what his cancer diagnosis meant was gone, replaced by a blunted version of himself, very much staring the empty question of death in the face.
I remember feeling extremely impotent during and after this conversation with him, unable to rely on who we had been before I left as a guide for how to interact with him then. And yet, even through all of that, he was able to say something I will never forget. He told me that he was so proud of me for doing what I’m doing here in Perú and that he wished he’d had more time in his life to do the kinds of things I was doing in my life. As much as it killed me to hear him talk like that, I respected the brutal honesty with which he made that statement.
I have a feeling for the rest of my life the magnitude of what can happen in a day will always be something that has the potential to sucker-punch the shit out of me or to fill me with awe and gratitude for existing. Or both simultaneously. I’d like to think that Bryan has left me and so many others some sense of wisdom about our own lives as a result of what he went through: while there are always reasons to put off those things you want to do with your life, no tomorrow is more tangible than today.
As much as I struggle to see how something so horrible happening to such a beautiful human being can be spun positively, I can’t help but think about how I’ve grown and gotten to know myself better as a result of how I reacted to his illness. He taught me that when someone is going through something horrible in their lives, the last thing they want is for everyone to start treating them like a victim. He also taught me that a well-timed cancer joke can be just as therapeutic as a quick squirt of morphine from an IV. His last lesson was to teach me that friendship apparently does not end at death; it’s just a little harder than making a long-distance phone call from Perú. For these lessons and more I will be forever changed as a result of knowing Bryan Raybon. Just looking at the hundreds of messages of love on Facebook alone, I have a feeling I’m not the only one he’s affected this profoundly and knowing this helps me deal with some of the hurt.
I’ll end this with my favorite short piece written by Borges:
Delia Elena San Marco
We said goodbye at one of the corners of Plaza Once. From the opposite pavement, I looked back; you had turned to wave. It was five o’clock in the afternoon. A river of traffic and people ran between us. How could I have known that that river was the sad Acheron, from which there is no return?
We did not see each other again, and a year later you were dead. Calling up that memory now, I look at it and think it was false. Behind our inconsequential parting was eternal separation.
After dinner last night I did not go out but, in an effort to understand these things, I reread Plato’s last teaching, which he put into his master’s mouth. When the flesh dies, I read, the soul escapes. Now I no longer know whether the truth lies in Plato’s dismal view or in our innocent farewell. Because if souls do not die, it’s quite right that goodbyes should not be overstated.
To say farewell is to deny separation. It is to say, ‘Today we played at separating but tomorrow we’ll see each other again.’ Men have invented farewells because they know they are in some way immortal, even if they think themselves incidental and ephemeral.
Delia, one day – beside what river? – we shall resume this indeterminate conversation and ask each other if once, in a city that was lost on a plain, we were Borges and Delia.



Thank you for being, Bryan.

Tuesday, December 13, 2011

So It Goes

So, Thanksgiving has come and gone, Christmas is on the way and my 31st birthday is frolicking merrily on the horizon. And here I am, about a month later writing another blog post. In the words of the late, great Kurt Vonnegut: “So it goes.”
So, speaking of Thanksgiving, we had a pretty sweet one, us volunteers, considering we were all away from home. Thanks to the extensive planning efforts of Ms. Sue Song, Youth Development presidente extraordinaire, myself and a bunch of youthie (and several small business) volunteers made plans to pass the three Thanksgiving vacation days so kindly provided to us by Peace Corps in the department of La Libertad, two departments south of Piura. All the youth volunteers were heading to Olmos, just outside of Chiclayo in Lambayeque, the department between Piura and La Libertad, immediately after the Thanksgiving holiday for what’s called Early In-Service Training (EIST), so we figured why not converge somewhere in the middle for some merriment before a week of training.
We spent the first night, Thanksgiving day, in Trujillo, Peru’s second largest city. After a delicious breakfast with real coffee (!!!) and a brief walking tour of the city, we passed the remainder of the day up on the roof of the hostel hanging out with volunteers from other groups that happened to be in town for their own Thanksgiving plans.
The next day we went to Huanchaco, one of the more well-known beach spots in Peru. It’s basically a chilled out surfer/gringo-friendly community about 30 minutes west of Trujillo on the coast. Definitely a fan. We stayed at an awesome hostel on the beach with a freaking vegetarian restaurant right next to it. I couldn’t believe it. A couple of highlights from the menu: burritos with curry-infused tortillas, falafel (!!!) and apple pie with ice cream. Super delicious.
After a couple of days on the beach and lounging around the hostel, we made plans for a giant Thanksgiving feast to go down the Saturday after Thanksgiving. Plans were made with the hostel so that we could use their kitchen for the two hours between their lunch and dinner hours, so we had to plan accordingly to be in and out with all of our stuff baked, cooked and cleaned. Dibs had already been called on the mashed potatoes (as my family can attest, around holiday season I’m a pretty lethal mashed-potatoer), so I offered to make my patented (as in I stole it from a recipe I found on about.com) vegan green bean casserole.*
*Tip: When lacking the delicious crispy French friend onion thingies for the topping, a good substitute is a large bag of the delicious mini papas fritas they’re so fond of dumping on their burgers here. Not quite the same, but pretty damn good, nonetheless.
All those involved with the actual cooking crammed into the industrial-size kitchen at the hostel and we commenced with gettin’ down. It was a beautiful effort really. We had volunteers in the bathroom of one of the rooms washing all of the fruit and vegetables in the shower, other volunteers in the other kitchen peeling the shitloads of potatoes, other volunteers making last-minute runs for supplies and of course, my group, cookin’ up some sweet lovin’ in the kitchen. After the two hours were up, we somehow managed to finish almost everything and have the kitchen relatively cleaned up.
The menu went as follows (I’m sure I’m leaving something out):
-a bunch of Pollo a la Brasa (basically rotisserie chicken substituted for the turkey because turkeys cost a shitload apparently)
-a mountain of bread
-assorted roasted vegetables
-a massive 5-6 cheese (I don’t remember how many different types of cheese were thrown in there. I just know it was delicious) mac’n’cheese
-sweet potato casserole thingie (also delicious)
-vegan green bean casserole
-fresh salad (very much a rarity in whatever part of Peru you live in)
-absolutely drop dead amazing stuffing (love, love, LOVE stuffing!)
-THREE different types of mashed potatoes!!! (all of which showed up anything I’ve been able to churn out in the past)
-delicious fruit punch mix
-copious bottles of sweet Peruvian wine
For dessert:
-make-me-weak-in-the-knees apple crisp
-chocolate peanut butter no-bake cookies (which due to a lack of prep time, ended up looking more like one giant glob of gooey chocolate goodness and were no less delicious as a result)
-fresh fruit salad
-4 different flavors of ice cream
Needless to say, I was cursing my gag reflex by the end of the night for not allowing me to eat more of that delicious goodness.
After dinner, I walked around with some friends looking for a dance club only to stumble across a secret jam session going on inside of a house that doubles as a pizzeria during the day. We sat on mats on the floor, kind of like in a Persian restaurant, and listened to some locals getting down to some traditional Peruvian songs complete with guitar, massive reed flutes and a huge cajon (pronounced ka-HONE), one of my favorite instruments in Peru. It’s essentially a rectangular-shaped wooden box that you sit on to play and that has a hole cut out of the back with metal strings strapped to the front panel on the inside to provide a snare drum sound, but can also produce a deeper, bassy sound depending on where you strike the box with your hand.
After the T-giving festivities, we all headed out from Trujillo to Olmos, about 5 hours north in the department of Lambayeque, to start our EIST.
EIST was interesting. It was fantastic getting to see everyone who didn’t make it to the Thanksgiving festivities and being back in a training atmosphere definitely had a positive effect on my motivation for when I returned to site.



Us learning (that's me in the Perú 17 shirt)
  
AIDS Day tent in Plaza de Armas, Olmos

My favorite parts were, without a doubt, getting to sing a super catchy song my buddy Zack wrote and performing socio dramas to educate about the ABCs of prevention (A=abstinencia, B=brindar fidelidad, basically “be faithful” and C=condon) for the youth in Olmos and the following day in Zaña, Zack’s site, for World AIDS day. As always seems to be the case with these socio dramas (at least, when I’m not playing a baby), I played the sleezy boyfriend who wants to get his fuck on. Oh, yeah. And I almost got to wear a condom suit, but we opted instead to let Zack wear it and be the singing condom.


Me "pretending" to be a guy who wants to get his fuck on (with my friend Brielle)

Dr. House says so (this show's actually pretty popular here)



Our AIDS Day Mascot

Informational Tent in Plaza de Armas, Olmos

Some alumnas sporting educational banners in Olmos
 


Yup. That's me.

Me taking a walk with Zack in some ruins from the 1400s in Zaña

Here's a pic of me breakin' it down on a super
old suspension bridge in Zaña.



Speaking of AIDS-related issues, I was asked to be the HIV/AIDS commitee representative for my department, which means I get to promote HIV/AIDS prevention events in the volunteers in Piura, visit volunteers currently doing projects regarding HIV education, help volunteers apply for grants and twice a year I go to Lima with the comittee to plan for the year. I'm still figuring out my role, but am super excited about what this will entail for my work here.
Returning to site after almost two weeks away proved to be much more difficult than I had expected. This was exacerbated by the fact that I not only had no work lined up, but no one wanted to do anything, supplying me with the same excuse every time: “Es mejor que esperar hasta el Año Nuevo. Todos están bien ocupado con la Navidad,” “It’s better to wait until the New Year. Everyone’s busy with Christmas.” Mind you, this is the response I received when I returned Dec. 2nd, roughly three weeks before Christmas.
Needless to say, my goal-oriented gringo ways could not immediately accept this fact and I went about several days in a row trying to shake down my socios for work and getting more exasperated in the process. Eventually, I had to succumb to the spirit of the season and acknowledge that maybe it was time to take a different approach.

During the summer here (Janurary and February), the kids all get out of school for two months and some attend what is called Vacaciones Útiles, meaning "useful vacations." Try as I might to figure out exactly what this would mean in my site (even asking the guy supposedly in charge ended up being more confusing than if I hadn't), it's supposed to be a time where kids who haven't been able to pass their classes or need some extra help can recieve it and all the other kids can just fuck around for two months.

Seeing as how I was not willing to sit on my ass and do nothing for two months while all the youth in my site had all this free time, I came up with what I have deemed Gringos Útiles, essentially "useful gringos." With this program I hope to employ the help of other volunteers close to my site to have joint events in between our sites with the youth while simultaneously offering the youth a place to come and hang out that's safe, fun and, hopefully, educational and giving them a chance to utilize our vast wealth of gringo knowledge. I'm currently planning each week's events and trying to figure out the budget right now, but with some help from my socios I'm pretty sure I can get this project going.

Okay, that's enough for now. I'm getting eaten alive by the massive swarm of mosquitoes that have invaded my site in the last week. Little bastards are everywhere. Looks like bug repellant is getting added to my daily routine after bathing and slathering myself in sunscreen.

Love to everyone! And since I will likely not get around to writing another post until after New Year's, Happy Christmas, Happy My Birthday (December 29th, in case you were wondering) and Happy and Safe New Year!!!

Monday, November 14, 2011

Some of the best ideas in the world were stolen...

So, my apologies to all the wonderful people who have remained interested in this humble blog. I realize it has been over a month since I’ve updated or posted anything, and for that I’m sorry. As always, I greatly appreciate any interest whatsoever in what I’m attempting to do down here in fair old Peru.
A lot’s happened since my last lengthy post, so I imagine this one will be a doozy as well. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.
I’d like to blatantly steal the topic of this blog from another volunteer, my friend Amanda, whose brilliant blog post regarding repeatedly having to explain to people what the hell it is we’re doing here served as my inspiration for this post.
I’m sure many of you may have wondered (since I’ve poorly attempted to explain it to several of you), what is it that a youth development Peace Corps volunteer does, per se? I have often found myself wondering the same thing while also contemplating how to explain to other people in my site in Castellano. Typically, it comes out extremely unclear and I by the time I give up attempting to explain it, I feel just as confused as the unfortunate person who decided to ask me. Training supposedly prepared us for the inevitability of this extremely common pregunta, however, just as when people asked me why I wanted to be a social worker, I typically felt ill-prepared to explain why I have a deep-seated need to help people on a very real and personal level.
To begin with, we have three goals we’re working toward with the youth (defined as ages 10-25) in our sites. The first is promoting healthy lifestyles through educating about safe sex and STDs as well as improving self-esteem and basic stuff like hygiene. This can also involve working with the parents to promote better communication between them and their children and telling them not to beat the crap out of their kids and stuff. The second goal is planning for their futures, whether it be helping promote attending a university or exploring job opportunities. The third goal is promoting youth leadership as well as positive participation in their communities.
So, as you can see, it appears pretty straight-forward once you read all of that. And at times, that shpeel helps me answer the question (although, you can imagine how all that can get jumbled up in a Spanish explanation). But more often than not, the follow-up question is “Yeah, but like, what are you doing?”
And that’s usually where I sort of freeze and feel like I haven’t got much to give in response to that answer. But then, once I think about everything that’s happened here over the last (almost) three months, I’m able to justify what at times feels like an extremely slow start to what has otherwise already been a life-changing experience for myself and hopefully has and will be for the youth in my site.
In an effort to provide actual concrete examples of what I’ve been up to (and to help me formulate an appropriate response to this question in the future), here’s what I’ve been up to since I arrived in site on August 22, 2011:
-Playing futbol. I’ve “joined” my host nephew Cesir’s futbol team for their weekly practices. This has proven to be a godsend because it rapdily exposed me to a large group of youth early on who somehow all remember my name (first and last) as well as providing me with weekly practice speaking Castellano with youth in my town (and learning slang). The guys from my team have proven extremely important in exposing me to cultural events and other aspects of my town as well as helping me out in the classroom when I went to their school to teach. Also, one of the coaches is a constant source of inspiration for working with youth in the community. Just yesterday he said something about the guys on his soccer team when they were acting childish that helped put things in perspective. He said this in Castellano, of course: “Right now they’re in between being children and being men. This is why they act the way they do sometimes. They’re trying to find themselves. Sometimes they don’t mature and they stay children, but other times they grow and become men.”
-Teaching about STDs in the primarias and secundarias. The way the schools here are set up, primarias are like elementary schools (basically) and secundarias are like middle school and high school. All the schools here are called colegios instead of escuelas, which you can imagine was fairly confusing for an English-speaker learning Spanish. My amazing socio, Milagros, helped me schedule charlas in one of the local colegios to address an increase in STDs she had noticed through her work as an obstetrician in the local health post and by my second week in site I was assisting her with educating kids about the dangers of unprotected sex. I’ve given that charla several times and eventually linked up with the local psychologist from my town’s DEMUNA (essentially the municipality’s equivalent of DFCS) to give STD charlas in the local high school. We’ve done four of those and have four more this week.
-Working with the local Youth Commission. As part of Youth Week, I participated in an event for special needs youth, gave a two-hour (semi-successful) charla on how to handle pressure to have sex when you’re not ready and attended a youth baile, which if you haven’t read the earlier post about that, I have to recommend it. Look for the one about AWKWARD! Also, I can’t say enough about the support I’ve received from this group of people. The Youth Commission has officially disbanded (I didn’t realize it was only for Youth Week), however, all of the people from the commission continue working in the community with youth in practically the same frequency and intensity as during Youth Week. Having awesome socios in the municipality has proven extremely useful as they have gone above and beyond in supporting my work here. They allow me to use their printers and copiers whenever I need, they help purchase materials for my charlas, they provide me with transportation to go visit the anexos (the outlying, poverty-stricken communities surrounding Pueblo Nuevo that I’m hoping to begin working in soon) as well as include me in social functions that help make me feel like a human being in the community as opposed to just that gringo walking around doing who-knows-what. I feel extremely lucky to have this level of support because it is quite the rarity from what I understand from other volunteers.
-Going to bed really early and waking up late. You’d be amazed at how tiring living in a different culture and speaking in another language can be on a nearly daily basis. I used to feel bad about heading to my room around nine every night to start preparing for bed around 10 and then waking up around 8-9AM the next morning. I got over that.
-Reading a lot. A lot. I’ve finished about seven novels since first arriving in site. Just to give you an idea of my previous reading tendencies, that’s probably more books than I’ve finished in the last three years combined.
-Working with motivated youth. One in particular, Jesus and I have started working on a fairly big project to address the substantial issue of people throwing garbage on the ground due to overall laziness as well as there being only about two trash cans in the entire town. We’re still in the development stages and have met with one of my socios in the municipality to begin fleshing out a concrete plan of petitioning the municipality for money while simultaneously planning charlas to give in the colegios educating about the importance of waste management.
-I’ve begun having twice-weekly English-speaking practice with the doctor from my health post who has been studying English for a while and speaks better English than anyone I’ve encountered in my town.
-Watching lots of episodes of series that I never got to see in the States. So far I’ve finished Carnivale (definitely recommend it) and the last season of Mad Men (couldn’t recommend it more). As you can see, I’ve got some free time on my hands.
-Working on my diagnostic report. The dreaded diagnostic. The word “diagnostic” is enough to strike fear into the hearts of all Peace Corps volunteers arriving at their third month in site. This loathsome torture device was devised by the Peace Corps as a means of helping the newly arrived PCV (Peace Corps Volunteer) begin formulating a work plan for the next two years in site. It’s a massive report we all have to write in Spanish about our host communities explaining the strengths and weaknesses and providing a cohesive work plan for addressing the issues we have discovered through our investigations during the first three months in site. In all honesty, the farther into it I get, the more I see the merit of performing this early on. That doesn’t mean I have to like it or enjoy it. After all is said and done, we have to give a presentation to our communities about our findings and our plan of action asking for feedback. I have found that with all of my free time, I can actually convince myself to sit down and chug out a few paragraphs each day with the end result hopefully being a cohesive report that will help me focus in on what I can accomplish here as opposed to feeling overwhelmed by all the potential that’s here. For the first time in my life, I’m finally doing something ahead of time. It only took me 30 years.
-Designing questionnaires and collating data. In order to perform said diagnostic, it was necessary to create a questionnaire that I could administer in the local colegio to a bunch of students to get some idea about the life of the youth in my town. With a great deal of assistance from former volunteers’ questionnaires and my doctor friend from the health post, I made a questionnaire with around 40 questions and administered them to five separate classes of high school students during their hour-and-a-half free period. On my own. Needless to say, 40 questions does not a full class make, so I had to kind of wing it the rest of the time depending on what the students told me they were interested in. The first class, I brought my iPod and did a brief educational session about the importance of Atlanta hip hop and played them selections from Aquemini while they filled out their questionnaires. It was possibly one my proudest moments as a volunteer watching a classroom of Peruvian teenagers bopping their heads to “SpottieOttieDopaliscious.” In another, I spent the last half of the class educating them about English pronunciation and found myself getting extremely into it. I didn’t realize until 20 minutes after the fact that the class had ended and even then the students asked me to stay and keep teaching. After this grueling but extremely fulfilling week in the colegios, I was left with over 150 questionnaires full of data I now had to collate. I’ve now spent the last week entering data into tables in an effort to provide some form of visual explanation of how I came to my conclusions. I’m up to about 50 questionnaires entered with another 100+ to go…
I think that’s most of it. Sorry if that’s a bit boring or overwhelming, but it does me some good to go ahead and get all of that down somewhere to see that I have been accomplishing things since getting to site. Also, we’ve been told that our first three months is more about getting to know your community and working on your community diagnostic as opposed to actually trying to get too much done. Still, it’s hard to be somewhere full of desire to make a difference and have to struggle just to feel comfortable. Regardless, I wouldn’t change it for the world.
In order to give credit where credit's due, here's a link to Amanda's much more concise and witty blog post: http://amandagoespc.blogspot.com/2011/11/minor-details.html
Now for some pics!


My Fútbol Team with the aforementioned coach in front

Reppin' gringo stylee with my jovenes



My Host Dad, Gerardo, and his birthday FEAST!

A Portrait of Peruvian Patience


The Carnage Afterwards



And of course, what long-ass post would be complete without another adorable picture of Beri Luz as Miss Princess Something or Other


Love you all and good night!

Monday, October 10, 2011

Perú, Te Amo.

Well, I was all set to write a blog post about all the quirky little idiosyncracies of life in Perú, poking fun at various aspects I've noticed over my four (!!!) months here. But then Saturday night happened and made me want to focus instead on one of the biggest reasons I'm extremely happy to be here. No it's not fútbol, although that's a close second. It's the people.

So, as I've mentioned in previous posts, living in a different country where my grasp of the language is tenuous at best can be difficult at times. Sometimes, it can feel like I'm not making much progress or that I don't fit in. Luckily, through experiences I've had in my life, I've learned that moments like these are always transient and serve to make me a stronger person in the long run. I bring this up because I had been feeling somewhat disconnected of late and was looking for a means of connecting with people in my community.

That's when Saturday night happened.

What started as a seemingly innocuous invitation to one of my 100+ cousins' Quinceañera (I have an ongoing joke with my host family that they're related to every single person in our pueblo 'cus their family's so big) ended up being one of the singular events in my time so far in Pueblo Nuevo. A Quinceañera is a Latin American celebration of a teenage girl's transition from childhood to womanhood when she turns 15. It's also apparently a reason for all of your family and friends to get together, get crunk as hell and dance until all hours of the madrugada (early morning).

The night started with everyone sitting in the living room eating arroz con pollo (mine sin pollo thanks to my attentive sister, Karina) and drinking chicha morada (a purple sweet non-alcoholic beverage made from purple corn and super freaking popular here... for some reason). The typical rite of passage events happened. The father gave a speech about his daughter, various male members of her family slow-danced with the birthday girl and presents were brought up and stacked next to the gigantic cake. It was also during this process that my host family got up to take their picture with the birthday girl and they all stopped and turned around, calling my name and motioning for me to join them because, naturally, I am a part of their family. These kinds of things happen often with them, and it's something that continues to blow my mind and fill me with gratitude for having such an amazing host family. After this, the DJ started his party mix of loud music and everyone settled into their seats along the wall, awkwardly waiting for someone brave (or drunk) enough to start dancing.

Around this point, the first caja of cervezas showed up and I was invited into the back room where the men apparently go to have dude time and drink beer. The social way to drink in Perú is totally different than in the States. In the US, we sort of have an everyone for themselves mentality about our alcoholic beverages, understandable in part because we have such a wide selection of options and also, we kind of think it's gross to drink out of the same cup as all of our friends (and strangers). Not the case in Perú.

For one, there's about four beers to choose from and only one of them is not a lager, it's a dark lager, and which for anyone who appreciates good beer such as myself, means that the taste options are limited to say the least. When drinking, there's a sort of ritual to the process that I find endearing. The person drinking fills a little plastic cup anywhere from 1/4 full to all-the-way full and hands the large bottle of beer to the person standing to the right of them. The person drinking then proceeds to chug what's in their cup, turn it upside down and shake out the excess foam and backwash onto the ground (or in this case, the floor of our host's house), effectively "cleaning" it and hand the cup to the person holding the beer bottle who then repeats the process and on and on around the circle. Now, this may seem like a somewhat inefficient way to drink a bottle of beer, but you'd be surprised how quickly that bottle makes its way back to you and how quickly and efficiently the members of said circle replace the empties with a fresh new cold bottle, especially impressive when in a drinking circle of two, which seemed to keep happening to me (more of a drinking line, I guess). One guy in particular seemed to take particular joy in my cringing everytime he would open a (not twist-off) bottle of beer with his teeth.

After passing the requisite amount of time with the dude contingent, I was feeling a little antsy and went to check out the party scene in the other room. The dance floor had picked up a good bit and I went to sit and watch the festivities from the (seemingly, but never) safe sidelines. Of course, I immediately got snatched up by one of my 100+ tias and did my best attempt at copying the other guys on the dancefloor. Then, of course I was thrust into the center of the dance circle to dance with the birthday girl. This dance ended and quickly transitioned to an hora loca in which goofy costumes are handed out with balloons and roughly an hour of lunacy (as the name implies) ensued. My costume consisted of a giant rainbow-colored bowtie and a neon green whistle that I blew incessantly while dancing in a conga line with my host siblings and other party members. Luckily (I think), one of my community partners was in attendance with her daughter who captured a ton of photos of this event, so hopefully I can get copies and post them here for your later amusement.

After a decent amount of congaing, I was ready for a break and sat down to watch my host brother, Lizardo and host sister, Karina, show up the whole party on the dance floor. One of the highlights of the night came when Lizardo, who was congaing behind Karina, started to fall and grabbed Karina on his way down, pulling her backwards on top of him and causing her skirt to go flying up. As Lizardo lay on the ground laughing his ass off with Karina on top of him, half of the party quickly jumped up to help Karina right herself. Lizardo was still on the floor laughing even after Karina had been helped back up. Eventually, Lizardo righted himself a well and they both proceeded to start the conga line again without missing a beat.

Later in the night, with Lizardo sitting next to me taking a breather from showing everyone up on the dance floor, I let out an extremely loud and poorly timed belch exactly as one song ended. Lizardo immediately burst out laughing, causing me to in turn double over in uncontrollable laughter, which in turn caused him to run out the front door laughing and leaving me all by myself with several partygoers staring at me wiping tears from my eyes unable to stop laughing. I eventually got myself together and apologized for my momentary lapse of etiquette.

At one point in the night, the man sitting next to me (the previously mentioned teeth-opener guy) asked me for my appraisal of the party scene unfolding in front of me. I responded Me gusta porque no hay verguenza. Es solamente sobre diversión. "I like it because there's no sense of embarassment. It's all about fun." And that's the case. With every event I've gone to, when I've been asked to step out of my comfort zone and do something that feels funny or awkward, everyone around me is simply happy to see me joining in or not paying attention at all, more focused on enjoying themselves then judging or poking fun at the gringo. It's the most uncynical place I've ever lived. I love it.

As I was preparing to leave around 2AM, the birthday girl's father thanked me repeatedly for coming and I attempted to explain to him how honored I was to have been included in such an important event. As the night wrapped up, I found myself feeling more connected to the people in my community, and especially to my hermanos.

The next morning, just after having eaten a late breakfast and still feeling the glow from the night before, the folks from the Youth Commission randomly paid me a visit and invited me to join them for what I've come to understand as a Peruvian hangover ritual: ceviche and beer on a Sunday morning. They walked me to some nondescript house near the chacras where there was a pleasant little restaurant tucked away in the back. Over a giant plate of ceviche, another of chicharron de pescado (fried fish chunks and delicious!) and a couple big bottles of beer, I found myself very easily interacting with this group of people who I am incerasingly coming to see as more than just community partners. We made plans to have another Sunday morning like this one in about a month to celebrate our work in Pueblo Nuevo's upcoming anniversary. And of course, before I knew it, the bill had been paid and we were leaving without them so much as giving a sideways glance in my direction to chip in. One of these days I'm gonna get the edge up on a Peruvian and pay the damn bill!

Sunday, September 25, 2011

¿Como se dice AWKWARD?

As likely all learners of Spanish (aka Castellano in Perú) know, there is no good translation for the English word "awkward," which is unfortunate because, as likely all learners of Spanish who happen to be living in a Spanish-speaking country also know, the word "awkward" comes to mind quite often. Last night was certainly a prime example. As part of Pueblo Nuevo's Semana de la Juventud (Youth Week), my local Comisión de Jóvenes (Youth Commission) hosted a Baile Juvenil (Youth Dance) to provide a safe, fun environment for the local youth to break it down. I had been helping the Youth Commission all week with various events they had prepared all over town, so of course I was invited to partake in the baile.

Now, anyone who knows me knows that I freaking love to dance. However, apparently when you put me in a large auditorium full of Peruvian youths getting down to a mix of largely unfamiliar types of music, I respond by sitting in a chair all night feeling horribly, that's right, AWKWARD!!! To make matters worse, my community partners from the Youth Commission felt the need to repeatedly pressure me to dance with the local Miss Simpatía who is of a questionable age and to whom I had said earlier in the night in Castellano "You're going to have holes in your head," when she informed me that her plastic crown hurt because it was digging into her head.

So, yeah. Awkward.

Eventually, I ended up dancing with several members of the Youth Commission and said Miss Elegancia, and managed to save some face with my dance moves, however restricted they may have been.

But, aside from the moments of awkwardness, which are to be expected in a new culture when learning a new language, I’ve been really enjoying my time here. I went to meet the alcalde (mayor) last week and within a few minutes of our meeting, he introduced me to the Youth Commission, a group of hip, motivated 20 somethings who subsequently invited me to their meeting that night to discuss plans for the Semana de la Juventud. They had already planned a lengthy schedule of events for the week and were hashing out the details for each day. They were extremely ingratiating and were happy to have another helping hand in the process. I quickly threw my two cents into the mix and made sure to take part in every planned event I could. Some of the highlights of the week included:

-a fashion show to raise money for cancer treatment
-a Miss y Mister (pronounced “meester”) Juventud 2011 contest
-a graffiti contest where local groups of youth spray-painted murals with positive messages on the walls of the soccer stadium in town (very cool!)
-a party for the Jóvenes con Capacidades Diferentes in which yours truly spent a good chunk of the time out on the dance floor with the local special needs youth (easily the highlight of my week, if not my life)
-a Congreso Juvenil (Youth Congress) in which I did a two hour dinamica teaching youth how to say “no” if their partner wants them to have sex and they’re not ready
-a youth mass in the local church, which I found out is extremely beautiful inside
-and last but not least, the aforementioned Baile de Awkward

Needless to say, getting hooked up with this commission has been a godsend and a great resource for getting to know my community better. Everyone on the commission is extremely cool and I constantly have to remind myself to speak Castellano with them because I feel so comfortable around them I often find myself wanting to speak English. Here's some shots of the garffiti contest:




I’m trying to get a little more regular with the blog posts, like weekly if I can, so thanks to everyone for hanging in there.

As a prize for all of my loyal and patient readers, here’s a ridiculous amount of cute. I present to you, Beri Luz (pronounced like "Betty Looz,") my adorable host niece. Chau all!

Friday, September 9, 2011

I didn't have to use my AK.

In the immortal words of the warrior-poet Ice Cube, "Today was a good day." Or in this case, yesterday.

Yesterday, I gave my first series of charlas (“talks”) in the local schools here with my amazing socio Milagros, an obstetrician who works in the local health post. The charlas were focused on teaching 11-14 year old kids about their naughty bits, the importance of safe sex and facts/myths about sex, pregnancy and STDs. Mila and I had decided that she would provide the bulk of the technical information and I would offer my knowledge of educational games and teaching strategies to reinforce what she was teaching. We opted for a game where the kids would break into two teams and would have to match words we provided them with the numbered parts of the male and female anatomy. Everytime a team would win a point, the kids would yell and pound on their desks. I can’t quite explain just how satisfying it was to say the words “rectum” and “anus” in Castellano and have both teams erupt in cheers because they got it right (they’re recto and ano respectively in case you were wondering).
After that, Mila educated the students about what each part of the anatomy did using a power point presentation she made. Then we passed out cards with myths and facts written on them about sex, pregnancy and various STDs and had the students read them aloud and say whether they were true or false, at which point Mila would offer further explanation.
We gave three 90 minute charlas rapid fire from 8 am - 12:30 pm in which Mila did most of the talking and I pulled my best Vanna White act, divvying out points and taping up the dibujos (“drawings”) of the various genitalia. I felt kind of useless not being able to assist much with disseminating the information, but my Spanish is apparently very lacking when it comes to medical terminology. Mila assured me I did fine, and informed me that one of the children had asked for the next charla to be on sexual assault. We informed the school director of what the student had asked for and are planning a charla for the end of next week.
It felt really rewarding to finally be in the schools and involved in the work I was trained to do. I’d be lying if I said it went as I had hoped and that the kids clearly seemed to be retaining all of the information, but I know the first few times will be a little awkward until I can get a better idea of my style, and regardless, I know they learned something and whatever they take away from the lesson will be better than what they had coming in.
Afterwards, I returned home for my usual humongous lunch (always fish of some sort, at least half of one, accompanied by a side of carbs, typically rice, and often lentils or soup, fresh vegetable salad and some fresh squeezed fruit juice.) Always delicious, but always coma-inducing, especially in the 80+ degree afternoon heat of the Piura “winter.”
Later I played soccer for about two hours with my awesome 13-year-old host nephew, Cesar, and his soccer team. Afterwards, the coach gave a pretty inspiring speech about an upcoming game in Piura City in a couple of weeks. He said that if his team won, they would get the chance to go on to play in Lima and train with one of the biggest teams in Perú. He painted it as an opportunity to see other parts of Perú, but stated that without discipline and respect on and off the field, a player would have little chance of success. I thanked him afterwards for his words, and he asked me to accompany the team for their game in Piura City, informing me that he thought of his team as a family and that I was now included in that family. Of course, I´ll be there.

I’m now rounding out my third week in site and it has definitely been a series of ups and downs. I’d be lying if I didn’t say the first week was by far the hardest. The full realization of what two years would entail as well as feeling the withdrawal of no Peace Corps volunteers around and no longer having an eight hour workday planned out for me made it difficult to get into the swing of things. I was pretty down for the first few days, but thanks to multiple phone calls from my fantastic volunteer friends going through the same thing, I was able to get back on track.
It's definitely been a wierd balancing act between my life here and the one back home. If I speak too much English with my gringo contingent, I feel like my Castellano suffers. When I start settling in here, I start to lose track of how things are going back home. My Castellano has progressed now to the point where I can understand a fair bit, but my brain forgets that it had to translate what people were saying and sometimes I find myself about to answer someone in English who has been speaking Castellano for the last 15 minutes. I guess that's a sign of progress, but it sure makes for a wierd headspace.

Looking down from the Tres Cruces

One thing has been a constant regardless of whether I'm up or down: I freaking love my site. Pueblo Nuevo is an amazing community full of some of the most fantastic, beautiful and giving people I have ever had the privilege to know. Consistently, I'm told that people want to help me in whatever way they can and I'm constantly being reassured that I will adapt poco a poco and to not be so hard on myself. Oh, and food. There is no chance that I will ever go hungry (or be hungry) here because I am constantly being given food or snacks or juice. It's an endearing part of the Peruvian culture that at times is difficult to maneauver. At least everyone's been pretty cool about the vegetarian thing.

The Big Iglesia next to the Municipality with the Tres Cruces up on the hill







The Cock-fighting ring (haven't heard much about this, but I imagine I will)



The Health Post (complete with Mototaxis!)

The Municipality Building (where the mayor and some of my socios work)












My host family most especially embodies the sentiment of this community. They have consistently told me from the first week I came for site visit that I will be regarded as a part of the family and that their entire house is open to me. And what a house it is. I live up on the second floor with about 3-6 other people depending on the week. Downstairs is the common eating area and living room, and two other members of the family live with their spouses and young daughters in seperate living quarters behind the house. We've also got a bunch of roosters (who seem daily confused about the time, so they just make noise all fucking night long...), ducks, baby chickens, a couple of turkeys, two pigs, two horses, some smaller birds that look like finches and a dog. I imagine any number of those animals' time is numbered, but luckily I haven't had to witness or hear anything to confirm that suspicion. Anyway, my house is sweet and when I don't have work or other duties to attend to, I sit out on the second floor balcony and study Castellano or read or journal with a cup of coffee. It's pretty ideal and perfect for getting to see the flow of the town.

Mi Casa Bonita



The upstairs cocina and living room just outside my room


My Room (looking in)

My Room (looking out toward the cocina)







I've become more aware of how many people keep up with this blog over the last couple of weeks, and just wanted to thank you for your ongoing interest. It means a lot to me to know that people are interested in what I'm doing here.

And in an effort not to end two blog posts in a row on a serious note, here's one of the suggested "Myth or Fact" statements I got for my sex-ed dinamica from one of the many extremely helpful (seriously) manuals provided to us by the Peace Corps:
"Un hombre con su pene más grande es más potente sexualmente que uno con un pene pequeño."
Fact or Myth? You tell me. 20 points to the person who guesses the right answer first!


Never underestimate the power of a pig basura to brighten your day. Whenever I put trash in him, I say, "There you go, pig."
¡Hasta next blog post!