Sh*t My Host Dad Says; Part Three

My host family has become a very important part of my Peace Corps service, and my host dad's wit and commentary both a blessing and a burden.

I've been posting funny quotes from my host dad on facebook and on here, but I haven't told you much about him. My host dad grew up here in my site with 12 brothers and sisters, a few of which have passed away over the years. He went to college and got a degree in physical education/sports. He mumbles like crazy and kind of sounds like Marlon Brando in the Godfather, and often my friends who visit have a hard time understanding him. He is a jack-of-all-trades and has so many different jobs and hobbies I can't keep track of them, from working in the school system, to building tombs in the cemetery, to bouncing at my host uncle's discoteca. He has 5 false teeth and occasionally he'll take them out and surprise me with a big grin. He is the definition of chismoso, a person that revels in gossip and other people's business, and when walking around town I occasionally run into him shooting the shit with neighbors. He has to put his two-cents in about everything. He's smart, a good father to his children, and a hard worker. He is an atypical Peruvian dad, as he takes a huge interest in his children's education, cleans the house, and has been known to make a meal for the family every now and then. We have a lot of interesting and fun conversations, and equally as many fights and disagreements, but it is always water under the bridge at the end of the day.

Many of you have told me how much you enjoy the posts about my host dad and feel that you like him and would love to meet him. It is nice to hear that our conversations can be translated into something that others can enjoy. Without further adieu, here is the third installation of some of the funnier shit my host dad says.

On appearances

Host dad: So, are you going to iron your sweater, or is it supposed to look all wrinkly and disheveled?

---

Host dad: ¡Que feo soy! [I am so ugly!]

Me: [stare blankly]

HD: All of my white hair, ugh, it’s so ugly. White hair is super ugly, huh?

Me: No, no, it’s not ugly.

HD: ¡Bien bandita eres! [You’re mischevious, lying, etc] You tell me, “No, no, you’re not ugly, it’s not ugly,” but you’re smiling the whole time you say it!

Proper eating

[Zack was over at my house and my host dad and host siblings were snacking on animal crackers, so they offered him some. He started eating them and my host dad interrupted him suddenly]

HD: Whoa, whoa, slow down! You’re doing it wrong! First you eat the head. Then you eat the feet. Then you eat the rest.

[Zack follows suit]

HD: See? Tastes better, doesn’t it?

---

Host dad: I want a tamal

Host mom: A tamal? At this hour?

HD: The stomach knows no hour.

H. Mom: You’re going to eat it cold?

HD: Hot or cold, the stomach doesn’t care. It’s all the same temperature when it reaches the stomach.

Me: There are other reasons to heat up your food, like texture, taste, and killing bacteria.

HD: All bacteria is killed the first time it’s cooked. The rest is psychological.

Me: And then more grows on it as it sits out. There are bacteria everywhere, and that’s why you have to heat your food up to a certain temperature to kill it.

[At that moment I took a sip of me tea, which was way too hot] “HOT!”

H. Mom: Did you burn yourself?

Me: Yeah, super hot.

H. Mom: That should kill all the bacteria!

An eye for an eye

HD: You know what I think they should do with criminals?

Me: What?

HD: Put them all on a boat, take them far out into the ocean, then put weights around their feet and throw them overboard.

Me: That's what the mob does.

HD: Well it's what the police should do. 

Me: That's a little extreme, don't you think?

HD: No. We should also cut the hands off of thieves.

Me: Uhmmm...

Health

After weeks of various different symptoms that never really added up to a cold, the flu, or anything that antibiotics could be prescribed for, the doctors suggested I give a stool sample to see if I have a parasite.

The last time I had a parasite (giardia) my host family all but didn’t believe it was possible. “Giardia doesn’t exist here,” my host mom said as she looked at me confused when I told her the diagnosis, which of course isn’t true.

So when I went in to give another stool sample I just told them I had a doctor’s appointment, because they tend to freak out when I’m sick. In fact, until I can demonstrate that I am completely healthy it is nonstop suggestions and ideas on what’s wrong with me and how I can fix it. After coming back from my regional capital, the questioning ensued.

Host Mom: And? How’d it go?

Me: Fine, I have to wait for the results.

Host Dad: How are you feeling? What’s wrong?

Me: I’m feeling fine right now.

HD: And your stomach? How is your stomach?

Me: Fine, it doesn’t hurt all the time, just sometimes

HD: Are you on your period?

Me: …No.

HD: You’re not? Because sometimes when women have stomach issues it’s because of her period.

Me: Well, it’s been going on for a long time, it’s not my period.

HD: I know what it is, you’re stressed. You’ve been very stressed lately and this is causing all your problems.

-A couple hours later-

HD: I know what’s wrong with you, you drink way too much coffee.

H.Mom: No, it’s not the coffee, the coffee just keeps you from sleeping, and she hasn’t been drinking coffee at night.

HD: I know what your problem is, you eat too much aji [hot sauce]. Too much aji can upset your stomach!

Me: I hardly ever eat aji.

HD: Yes you do!

Me: No, I swear, I barely ever eat it.

HD: Then whose aji is that in the fridge?

H.Mom: That’s mine.

HD: What in the world are you doing eating so much aji? Why do you need aji? Aji is only going to make you sick!

-One week later-

HD: What’s wrong with you? You seem down.

Me: I’m just not feeling very good.

HD: Still? What did the doctor say?

Me: That everything came back normal.

HD: You see? I told you, you’re fine, it’s just stress. Stress can cause stomach problems, headaches, fatigue and all of that.

Me: You’re probably right.

HD: I am right. And why are you stressed anyways? You don’t have kids, you eat 3 meals a day, your life is easy. Quit stressing out!

My host dad headed out for one of his many random jobs; night security at a well.

Carnaval! Throwing baby powder at each other at a party.

Host dad and I, covered in baby powder from carnaval craziness

On the important things in life

HD: You should buy a house here. Actually better yet, buy land then build your own house, that way you can have it how you like it.

Me: Okay, sounds good.

HD: But just get the basics; don’t go buying a bunch of fancy stuff, just what you need to live. The most important thing is food and to eat, am I right? Don’t go buying expensive furniture, expensive things. Some people buy couches and they get upset if it gets dirty and say, “Hey don’t put your feet on the couch!” But what happens if I have a couch I barely use? I keep it nice and clean and then I die, my wife remarries, and then some other guy is sitting on my couch. Better I enjoy it now and put my feet up. Because you can’t take it with you when you die, am I right? They give you a nice white shirt and then put a blanket over your legs because no one looks below the waist at someone in their coffin. Nope, you can’t take it with you.

---

HD: All of our children are weak and don’t know what it is to suffer, am I right? Before women used to have 10, 12 kids.

Me: Yeah…that’s a lot of kids.

HD: Now, women only have one and they don’t even want to push out their baby! They don’t even want to deal with pregnancy! Look at you, how old are you? You don’t have any kids, and why? Because you’re scared.

Me: Umm….it actually has to do with the fact that I’m not ready to support a child, nor am I in a position to take care of a child.

HD: How old are you, 24?

Me: 26

HD: Well you’re not getting any younger. When you finally get married and have kids, you take care of yourself, you and your husband. Neither of you should drink for at least 5 months. You don’t want your baby being born a drunk. You want your baby to be strong.

Me: Yeah, when the time comes.

HD: Well, don’t wait too long, cause you’re what? 23?

Me: I’m 26

HD: And your boyfriend?

Me: 26, the same.

HD: Well…just don’t wait too long.

Dating

Host dad: Kayla [my host mom's nickname] was so shy and quiet when she was young.

Me: Yeah?

HD: Yeah, she would blush and hide her face whenever I walked by her.

Me: How did you two meet?

HD: Here in town.

Me: You just both grew up here and knew each other?

HD: Yeah.

Me: So how did you start dating?

HD: She called me up one day and invited me over to her house for candy.

Host mom: [from the other room] LIAR!!

Aging

HD: Ugh, cebada is gross, am I right? It only tastes good cold, am I right?

[Cebada is a drink made out of barley. I can’t drink it since I’m gluten free]

Me: What about emoliente, the hot drink with cebada in it? What do you think of that? [Emoliente is often used to cure and prevent ailments]

HD: No. I’m old. My body is old, my organs are old, my heart is old, there is no reason for me to drink that. You? You’re young. You need to maintain your health. Me, I’m done. There’s no saving or maintaining any of this.

[my host dad is 54]

What I suspected all along…

HD: I like to talk and have conversations, but I also like to say the contrary of the other person. If everyone agrees in a conversation, it’s boring and short. You, you don’t always agree with me, and I like that, and our conversations are better and longer because of it.

Mi más sentido pésame

Cemeterio de San Francisco

My good friend Becky recently came to visit (Becky will talk more about the trip in her upcoming guest blog!), and we went on a lot of walks in my town, and I took her on Piter and my usual route out to the cemetery. Becky and I share a love for cemeteries, so it was fun to walk around and also share with her a part of my everyday. I showed her my host grandpa’s tomb and told her about the parties we often have around his tomb on the anniversary of his death, his birthday, and día de los muertos, and how the whole family will come together and take a day off of work to celebrate him and be together. It has been five years since my host grandpa’s passing, and in my almost-two years of service I have been to a handful of these celebrations and always enjoyed them. I never knew my host grandpa, but they are comforting and my host family speaks of him so fondly. When I told Becky about this we talked about how this is so different from things back home, but it seems in many ways better. It seems like a better way to grieve.

When I got back from my vacation with Becky (we went to a couple places out of my site), I arrived early on Sunday morning. I readied myself for a quiet day of unpacking, napping, and getting ready for the week when my host mom came into my room. She asked me to go with her to the house of her sister’s father-in-law because he had died. Whenever my host mom asks me to do something, I do it. I asked her what clothes would be appropriate, and despite feeling wracked from a 12-hour overnight bus and the temperature reaching somewhere in the 90º’s, I pulled out my black slacks and a nice button-up shirt. I hadn’t been to a wake or funeral in my town before but I had seen the processions walking by my house and walked by the groups of people sitting in chairs outside of the deceased’s home for days. I knew at the very least that this would be a long day.

I walked with my host mom and my host grandma a mere block away from my house to reach the wake. Within the short time it took us to arrive I already felt sweat on my brow and upper lip and my legs felt suffocated with the first time I’d worn pants in months. Outside of the home there were at least 50 people sitting in plastic lawn-chairs under a small temporary awning structure built to offer some cover from the sun. We quietly greeted everyone, some I knew, most I didn’t. As we went to enter the home my host mom held me back to tell me how to give my sympathies in Spanish. “Mi más sentido pésame,” she instructed me, a phrase that can loosely be translated as “feeling the weight” or the pain of those suffering the loss of their loved one, or being their to take the weight and pain. When I entered the house I saw why so many people were sitting outside, as the entire house was filled with mourners, and I was directed to a smaller room next to the main living area.

The room was filled with large and beautiful bouquets of flowers and the closest family members sat along the edges. My host grandma walked in before me so I just followed her lead and waited my turn to give sympathies to the widow and others. In the middle of the room was the casket, open, with a piece of glass laid over the top. I assume the glass has something to do with the embalming practices, as well as the customary two-days the family spends with the deceased in the home. In regular embalming practices the fluids are drained from the body and replaced with chemicals, and it is made sure that the eyes and mouth are shut. However, that is not always how it is done here. In this case, the deceased appeared to be at least partially embalmed, however his mouth was open and filled with cotton, as was his nose, and it appeared as though his eyes were sewn shut.

When it was my turn to give my sympathies, I hugged those sitting closest to the casket and said the words my host mom had told me to. They received my hugs and thanked me sincerely, and I made my exit as many more people had come in behind me. As I was leaving a woman stood over the casket and laid her head down on the glass and sobbed.  

Outside the crowd had grown larger. I was offered a seat right next to the door to the house and I settled in for what I knew would be two-hours of waiting until we moved on to the church. More and more people came and entered the house, returning outside to find a place to wait. Sweat ran down my back and soaked my shirt and I fought off falling asleep as the heat baked all of us in our nice clothes. There were murmurs of quiet conversation, weeping and whaling, and the people kept coming.

In my time in Peru I have been in so many situations that made me uncomfortable or that I felt awkward and unsure of myself. I have found myself in situations in which I had felt like an intruder on a private moment. I have wondered out loud, “what am I doing here?” And somehow at the wake of a person I hardly knew, hours in and not even halfway through its completion, I realized this wasn’t one of those moments. I realized that I no longer have those moments. While this person was a neighbor that I had passed on countless runs, I did not know him well, but I did not feel like I did not belong. It did not bother me to see him in his casket. The community had come together to bear the weight of the loss of a loved one, and I am now a part of that community.

When it came time to move on to the church, to carry the casket and the man out of his home for the last time, there were hundreds of people present. Being a small town the church is only a few blocks from anywhere, so the group walked slowly on to the church following a marching band.

The funeral continued with a mass at the Catholic Church (which was filled to the brim) for another two hours, and then followed by a procession to the cemetery. I handed kleenex to my host mom and host aunt as we exited the church and watched as people clung to the casket, kissing their hands and touching it, and cried as it was carried out. My host mom and host grandmother decided it would be okay to leave at this point although the ceremony would continue on for at least another two hours. 

We parted ways with the group heading to the cemetery and my host mom continued to cry and tell me how the funeral had reminded her of her father's. We stopped at a bodega on the way home and she bought us popsicles and we ate them in silence as we walked home.

It may seem strange to say, but in many ways the wake meant a lot to me. I’m glad my host mom invited me. It immediately put me side-by-side with people in my community and grounded me after returning from vacation, which can be difficult. It gave me an opportunity to participate in a part of life that I often stay away from. It allowed me to realize how much I’ve grown personally, and within my community as an honorary member. It showed me how much my host mom appreciates my presence, even in times of sadness.  In my first months of service I would not have been able to handle a wake or funeral, but I also wouldn’t have been invited.

There are many things about the small Peruvian community I live in that I have come to really appreciate. Yes, it is humble and still developing, but their interconnectedness as a community and willingness to bare the weight of others, to share the load, is one I admire and hope to emulate. Maybe Peruvians are less disconnected and separated from death because they don't have the privilege and opportunity to do so, but their customs are something I would never change. I am humbled and honored to become apart of it.  

Forbidden Love

Everyone in my town wants me to fall in love with a Peruvian and stay forever. Or maybe they don't even want this, but they assume this will happen regardless of the fact that I have a boyfriend back in the US. If I love Peru, I will surely fall in love with a Peruvian and never leave.

Well, despite myself I have indeed fallen in love with a Peruvian. His name is Piter (Peter), and he is my host uncle's dog. 

Piter is a 9-month-old mutt, and my host uncle bought him June 2012. I remember being surprised that he got the puppy and skeptical, yet hopeful that he would take good care of him.

The thing is most Peruvians have a very different relationship with animals than people in the US do. In general (meaning I can't in any way speak for all Peruvians, because I do know people that have pets they care for) "pets"  live in a state of neglect. Dogs are seen more as pests than man's best friend.

I couldn't really tell you if all the emaciated dogs I see roaming the streets eating trash are strays or just uncared for pets, because I haven't seen them in any other way than just running around in packs. Many Peruvians I know have an inherent fear of dogs, giving them a wide birth while walking past them, or preparing to hit or kick them if they get anywhere near them.

Indeed, dogs are kind of scary here. They have lived a hard life and don't really love humans all that much either. One of the reasons I stopped running was the constant issue of being chased by dogs and having to carry rocks with me. 

If someone does have a beloved pet dog it is not uncommon for that dog to be poisoned by a neighbor or someone else in town. My host family once had a dog that lived on the roof until someone threw it some food with poison in it. They also put glass in meat. It's sad. Many volunteers have lost pet dogs to these cruel methods. Sometimes the dogs are blamed for killing chickens or other livestock, sometimes they're just seen as a nuisance.

So you can see why I was skeptical for this puppy's future.

A couple months ago I went to an event for my host family at the discoteca that my host uncle owns, and that's when I saw Piter for the first time in months. He was tied up behind the discoteca (a building that is a block away from my host uncle's house) by a leash that allowed him maybe a 4 foot distance to pace. He had a food bowl filled with rice and potatoes; leftovers from my host family's meals. When I walked around the corner and saw him he literally freaked out with excitement. He was shaking and yapping and so excited to see someone he ran at me, causing him to hit the end of his leash and fly straight on his back. But he was so excited he did it again. 

Piter is a puppy. A puppy with a lot of energy, so much energy that he jumps and barks and whines, and he is so happy to be around people he can't control himself. You know, just like puppies usually are. But instead of this being seen as a phase he needs to be trained and worked through, my host uncle saw it as a nuisance and annoyance, my host family deemed him "loco" and put him in the back of the discoteca where he wouldn't bother anyone. Thus, making his anxiety of not having attention even worse. I knew if he just got some exercise he would probably be a lot better behaved, not to mention if someone took some time to train him.

I see a lot of stuff that is hard to see that I can't do anything about. And while Piter's situation is by no means the worst of these, it was one I could possibly help with. So I talked to my host family and told them I love walking, would it be okay if I started taking Piter on walks with me?

And thus began my relationship with this little dog and my decision to train him. I thought to myself, "If only I could show my host family what a good dog Piter is, they will treat him better." So I started taking Piter on walks, teaching him simple commands (in Spanish, of course) to get him to stop jumping all the time, to come when called, etc. I also started buying dog food, giving him a small portion of it whenever I saw him so I could feel better about him eating food meant for him.

It's a little hard because Piter has so much energy and he just needs a field to run and run forever until his little legs give out from underneath him. But, because I worry about losing him or him getting into poison I can't just let him loose in a field. There aren't parks where he can play or grassy areas in general where he can run free. So, we go to the cemetery.

Piter's a little guy, and probably not getting any bigger

Hanging out on top of a tomb. Hope they don't hate dogs.

The cemetery has become our place to go to where he sprints around tombs and runs after lizards and birds and wind-blown trash. It has been a process, but he has made so much progress in our short time together. I have been so proud of him, telling my host family what a good dog he is, how he just needs attention and training and he will shape right up. Since I started walking Piter they moved him back to the house where he can at least see people, even though he has been banned to the back of the house where all of the fighting roosters are kept. 

One afternoon I let Piter hang out in my room and I made him his now favorite toy from an old gym shirt. Then I started getting fleas on me and I freaked out and took him home. 

Well, my plan has kind of backfired for a couple reasons. A) I love that dog, B) My host family thinks he only listens to me, therefore not elevating his abilities in their eyes, but instead implying that by freewill he is crazy towards them and good for me.

And, Piter is kind of crazy for them. They ignore him, they yell at him, my host cousin screams and runs away from him. And then he acts out by destroying things. And then he's get attention alright…by getting beat. 

The other day my host family was talking about pobrecito Piter and this situation, how he is essentially a dog that isn't wanted by his owner and is often beat, and Piter and I have created a bond.

And then my host cousin asked if I could take him back to the USA. 

I could take him back to the US. It would cost a pretty penny, but with the right paperwork it is possible. But whether or not I am personally able to do that is the question. Where would Piter live? Where I am moving back to doesn't allow dogs. Am I willing to spend up to $1500 on getting a dog home that I don't even necessarily have a home for? And if I were to take Piter, I would want him to become 100% my dog while I'm still in Peru, living with me with my host family so that I can work with him on his behavior and make sure he is "US ready." My host dad has already made it clear he hates all animals that aren't on his dinner plate. 

It's a tough situation I have gotten myself into. I can't just go saving Peruvian dogs because I hate seeing what's happening. Yes, I have access to this one dog, but there are millions of dogs getting treated this way if not much worse. So I decide to "save" this dog and then my host uncle gets bored and sees another cute puppy somewhere and thinks this time it will be different?

And, if I'm completely honest, since my host cousin asked me if I could take Piter to the US I haven't visited him. I am too attached. This situation is getting complicated, and I don't know if I am capable of seeing Piter as just a dog I walk. 

Piter is a good dog in a bad situation. Piter represents everything in Peru I wish I could just swoop up and love and take care of and save. I don't know where to draw the line. 

Photo by Sue Song. It was so hot outside Piter laid down and refused to walk any further, so I carried him. 

This is the year

Well holy moly, cow-heart-on-a-stick, it is February and I have no posts for 2013!

This has largely been because I haven't had a working computer up until about a couple weeks ago, and then just this week I got internet back in my room again. I have so much I want to tell you all. Like about my incredibly awesome, never-gonna-top-this New Years vacation in Ecuador with some fellow volunteers and my boyfriend. Or how my projects turned out, and the projects I'm already working on for the next school year. Let's not forget that I have enough material to write two "Sh*t My Host Dad Says" posts saved up (I think some of the best yet).

But above all of those things, this is what I want to tell you right now:

This is the year I come home!

It's here! I left the USA in 2011, and here we are two years later. I can't believe it! Friends and family, I will see you this year!

It is bizarre because I still have a lot of time left (around 6 months) but that is nothing compared to when I started. Already my host family and I talk about what it will be like when I leave and discussions are in the works for a replacement volunteer. It's pretty emotional. I am jumping for joy inside that I will get to go home and that I have accomplished a life goal, and then I choke up and sometimes cry because of what that means for my home here.

Last week my regional coordinator (a Peruvian who is kind of like a go between for the Lima office and volunteers) came to my site to talk to my socios. I first took him to the municipality and after some niceties I told my socia (the secretary of the mayor) about the possibility of a replacement volunteer. She looked at my regional coordinator and said, "Are we not allowed to request that Amanda stay an additional two-years instead of getting a new volunteer?"

I was actually taken aback by that comment. I didn't imagine that people wanted me around that much. After my RC explained to her that staying was a volunteers choice, everyone in the room turned and looked at me so expectantly. I was a little shocked and all I could stutter out was, "You guys....my family, my friends, my boyfriend." It was a strange moment. I never expected I would be asked to stay.

We then left to go talk to my amazing socia, the obstetrician, at the health post. On our way there I was doing my usual "Hola, ¿Como estas?" to people as we passed and my RC said, "Wow, Amanda, everyone knows you!"

"Of course they do," I said. "I'm the only white girl in town."

I guess that's just how I've seen myself; the ever conspicuous white girl in town who everyone sees running from one end of town to another with a satchel and papelotes, but no one really understands her purpose.

Having an outsider, a Peruvian nonetheless, come into town and to see these connections so clearly made me realize that maybe I am seen as more than that. You know, Peace Corps is a pretty thankless job. Sometimes (a lot of times) you work your ass off creating a project or a presentation, and no one shows up. Some days you get asked, "Hey, what is it exactly you do?" by people you work with. Or, if you're me, at the end of the school year after fighting tooth and nail to keep the Pasos Adelante group afloat, the director who turned it down time and time again asks, "What is this Pasos Adelante group?" It makes you wonder if it matters that you're here at all.

When my RC and I got to the health post the OB was with a patient, so he took a phone call outside while I waited. And as I was standing in the hallway of the health post, like I had so many days that year waiting to make plans with the my socia, I started to cry.

It is the year I come home, and the year I leave another home. The only thing I can do is enjoy every moment as it comes and appreciate it for what it is, because while I may be able to visit in the future, I can never return to this experience.

Bring it on 2013!

Llegó noche buena

Merry Christmas Eve!

I haven't posted in awhile because my computer has passed on to the other side. It just wouldn't turn on one day with full battery charged. Yep. It's gone. So I've been having to borrow my host family's computer, which means sharing with my host mom and three younger host siblings, two of which are equally as addicted to facebook and youtube as any teenager back home. However, it's been a very nice, freeing experience. I've spent more time writing in my journal, reading, hanging out with the host family, making art...it's been very nice. I'm actually considering not getting internet again once my computer is fixed....

...which will be when I get to see Justin! A group of us friends are heading to Ecuador Christmas day and Justin is flying in to Quito to meet up with us! It's going to be so great! We're taking a night bus over the Ecuador border, and my friends and I are already preparing to make the bus ride as Christmas-y as possible, with Christmas snacks and Christmas movies. Super happy to have some regular Christmas cheer added into this holiday!

This is my second Christmas away from home ever in my life, and Christmas in Peru can be tough for volunteers. It is very warm here right now (I'm wearing a sun dress and still a little warmer than I'd like to be), and Peruvian tradition puts more focus on Christmas Eve, la noche buena, specifically midnight on Christmas Eve.

On the day of the 24th early in the morning preparations for dinner are being made, which won't be eaten until midnight. The whole family stays up (maybe snacking a little) and just before midnight the table is set with all of the traditional food and drink-- turkey, paneton, empanadas, canned peaches, and hot chocolate and wine. The whole family gathers around in anticipation for the clock to strike midnight, and just as it does a designated person in the family places the baby Jesus in the manger of the family nativity scene (every family has at least a small nativity set) and says a prayer, and everyone hugs and says, ¨feliz navidad.¨. Then everyone raises their glass of wine in a toast and dinner commences. After dinner, everyone heads out into the street and to the plaza to say Merry Christmas to friends and neighbors.

Front of my host family's house

Me with the high school 3rd grade girls and the tree we decorated  for a competition. I mostly just put ornaments in high places.

Honestly, I love  the tradition of going out in the middle of the night to the plaza, all of the trees decorated and Christmas music playing, and just walking around saying , ¨¡Feliz navidad!¨ However, I think what makes Christmas difficult is that there is little anticipation leading up to it, and it's pretty anticlimactic. My host family went all out decorating the front of the house this year, but Christmas music isn't played (and to be honest, I'm okay with that. Spanish Christmas music is not my favorite), Christmas movies aren't watched, and Christmas day no one days anything except sleep in. I mean, sure, there are a hundred chocolatadas (hot chocolate and paneton parties for small children, usually with a present involved) but I hardly feel in the spirit while sucking down hot chocolate under the baking sun and watching girls dance around in little Santa outfits that are usually designated to the ¨Slutty Santa¨ section of the Halloween costume area back home. Those are usually more of a headache then they are cheerful.

High school 4th grade boys singing a villancico, or Christmas carrol.

Mothers preparing chicken and hot chocolate for the high school chocolatada

There's just something about being back home in the cold of winter, everyone seeking warmth indoors and sharing in food, drink, and merriment winding up to the big day. When I'm here it just feels like any other day, and while I'm listening to Christmas music in my room and the words of, ¨Baby it's cold outside,¨ are being crooned out of the stereo, I'm wearing shorts and a tank top and have never felt so far away from that sentiment.

Christmas away from home is hard, but I'm happy that I have a host family that has taken me in as one of their own and other volunteers who have become great supportive friends and shared the journey with me. While I may be missing all of my family, friends, and traditions of Christmas back home, the sentiment of love, sharing, and goodwill to others is not lost.

So to all of my family and friends back home, Felíz navidad y prospero año! I hope you are near loved ones and sharing in the spirit of Christmas, and know that I am carrying you all in my heart.

Shedding the guilt and shedding light; that one time when Amanda got all hippy-dippy-woo-woo on her blog

Let me tell you about a dream I had last night. 

I was with my Peruvian community and we were preparing for a long journey. I didn’t know where we were going or how long it would take us (days, weeks, maybe longer), but I knew things would be better for us there.

We chose to take this journey by boat, raft, kayak—anything that would float—and headed down a twisting black river. I was on an old raft crammed in amongst others from my community. We spent all day on the river going through complicated rapids, over hidden falls, hanging up on trees and root wads. Soon it became pitch-black night and many of our boats were destroyed, possessions lost, and members taken by the swift current. We were cold, wet, and tired from the long day with all of our losses. Things were bleak.

As we pulled over for the night and sat on the shore, I decided to look for resources and I climbed up a steep embankment. When I reached the top I found myself on a beautiful, well maintained cement path that followed the river. It was not in fact night, but sunny and warm, and when I looked back in the direction from where we came I could see the point where we started only 100 yards away. We had gone through a tough, tumultuous, and long day, but we had barely gotten anywhere.

I was immediately annoyed and angry with my community, wondering why they had never used the path and why they had chosen to go along the dangerous and difficult river. It made no sense to me. But somehow I knew they knew the path existed, they had just always taken the river.

(Are you still with me? I promise, I'll get to a point.)

Soon the path was filled with people, specifically people from the U.S. Some of them were my friends, but most complete strangers. They were wandering this way and that, bumping into me, bumping into each other, talking about yoga classes, restaurants, concerts, and clothes. I knew the path could lead all of us to “the place” where things would be better, the place my community wanted to go to, but they were content to mingle and spend time along this part of the path. No one looked me in the eye, no one looked around at all, and they never looked down the embankment.

I didn’t know what to do. I knew the way my Peruvian community was going was not the best way, but that I would never get them to leave the river. On the path I was just as lost, pushed around by a crowd of people who didn’t seem to care about more than their next destination that would bring them to more personal gain. The dream ended with me frustrated, sad, feeling guilty for not being able to do more, and angry.

I can’t remember the last time I had a dream that was so symbolically straight-forward in its meaning. This dream is very much how I feel these days. I am on this journey with my Peruvian community working towards development, and it is a slow and arduous process, one that can hardly be measured. I have all these ideas on how things could progress, but I get near nowhere with them. And while I am on this journey with twists and turns that have changed my life, it will only be for a short while before I return home—the place where many people don’t get to experience this and have a harder time understanding it, and in short, have their “first-world problems.” In the U.S. we have so many opportunities the rest of the world doesn't, and yet so often we are stalled, not moving forward. And amongst it all, I am feeling so helpless. I dearly want to help, but due to so many factors I am often unable to do anything.

And as far as where the river and path lead to…well I’ll get to that in a minute.

I am not surprised that this dream followed a skype conversation I had with a dear friend of mine (my Loba!) who is freshly out of service, having COS’d right before Thanksgiving. I was telling her about some very upsetting things that have been happening in my site with the youth and the authorities, and she was telling me about her transition from campo life to the luxuries of the U.S.A. She is working on finding peace with the experiences, changes, and transitions with her service, and feelings that accompany all of it. For example, that we become part of a community and we live and laugh with these people, love them, mourn with them, and we become family, but how we also witness a lot of upsetting, tragic realities in our communities. And then, in her words, we get a “magic ticket” that just takes us away from it all. But these people don’t get to leave. These people that we bond to so tightly will continue to have hardships that aren’t even a reality of our U.S. lives, and in that there is a sense of guilt.

It reminds me of a Huffington Post blog that was being passed around by a few PCV’s titled Peace Corps Guilt. It was a post written by a PCV in Paraguay and she talked about the sense of guilt and helplessness she struggled with everyday in her service, and how it was connected to her feelings that all the first-world commodities she was still allowed seemed like frivolous expenses that could’ve in turn been used to do something simple like feed a starving child, family, community, etc. She wrote about how she never felt she was able to do enough and wanted to help with immediate needs of hunger and poverty but she couldn’t possibly solve this problem in a sustainable way. What it came down to for her, what she knew she could do, was Peace Corps goal 3; telling those back home about her experiences. And by doing so she would not solely hold the burden of wanting to change the world, but she would spread it out to others. Because the guilt associated with never being able to do enough and allowing others to live in impoverished conditions while we thrive belongs to everyone.

The guilt my friend and this Paraguay PCV are talking about I get. The feeling of helplessness, of never being able to do enough—oh, I get it. I have loaded on the guilt, telling myself I could always do better. I have fought and pushed for projects to go through, and when they didn’t I took a lot of the blame. I’ve been hiding the fact that I have enough money to go to my regional capital to watch a movie and get Starbucks a couple times a month. This is the inherit guilt many of us have when we enter our service, because no matter how integrated we get into our community, we are at an economic level that allows us more comfort than those around us. And well, we will always have that “magic ticket” that we can take at any moment.

However, I don’t wish guilt on everyone (although there are definitely guilty people out there I wish for one moment felt remorse). While guilt can be a good motivator, it is also an insatiable beast. I think the direction Loba is going in is the right way, in searching for peace in the midst of this transition. I also agree that educating people back home and doing our best to explain the reality of our experience is very important. And maybe I’m getting into a philosophical and ideological debate here—but do we have to feel guilt in order to be enlightened and want to change a situation?

Do my friends back home have to regret their yoga classes and happy hours and feel guilt for every latte they drank this week in order to learn about the need for a better public education system in Peru?

Does my family have to feel guilty for every meal they ever ate at a restaurant in order to understand the need for basic things like clean running water and waste management in the campo?

No, of course not. The U.S. and Peru have two very different realities. While I may joke about “first-world problems” everyone really does have their own problems, their own realities. Hardships come in many different ways. Yes, there is extreme extravagance and wealth in the U.S., and companies and organizations spending unseemly amounts of money on things that do not further our world in becoming a better place. But the people I will be talking to about my experience when I get home (and now through my blog) are first and foremost the people I love. I do not want to shower them with guilt, but with stories about all of the unique facets I have come to love and despise about Peru. I can in no way claim any sort of “higher moral ground” or martyrdom for being here and choosing to live and work in the 3^rd world, I have just been allowed a perspective I didn’t have before; one that I hope I can share with my Peruvian community and with people back home.

Ever the idealist, I am literally dreaming of a better place—a place we all want to get to but for our own reasons just aren’t making our way in that direction. I saw the path so clearly, heading off in the direction of a beautiful scene of mountains and trees, the sun shining bright. I don’t know where it was going, and I couldn’t even tell you what it leads to, but I think it can only be described as progress.