I have attended more birthday parties in the past two months than I have in the past twelve years. Given the time of year, (hint, hint) I thought I’d take a moment to share some tidbits on the basics of celebrating a birthday Peruvian style. The following rules have proven true at all the parties I’ve attended, regardless of age, status or location. I went to one party during training, but was too new to the Peruvian party system to appreciate its intricacies. Now I’ve totally gotten the hang of it – and the parties are super fun! Take notes, I’ll expect this in 2011.
Rule #1: The party never ends. Just when you think you’ve survived the fifth hour of dancing, a new guest will arrive with a caja of cerveza. Said guest will greet everyone individually, open up a beer, crank up the tunes and the party starts anew. Seriously, I put in a good 10-hour day at one birthday party and was still bested by about 20 people. I’ve yet to see the end of a party, a decidedly un-Jesster-like move. Often there are shifts of partygoers, an afternoon crowd and an evening crowd. Only the truly diehards even attempt both shifts. I’m beginning to realize my family considers themselves diehards. Or maybe they just really like seeing me dance for hours upon hours. Either way, we’re a two-shift family.
Rule #2: The drinking circle. I’m sure I’ve mentioned this custom in passing in previous postings, but I don’t think I’ve actually explained the art form behind this magical circle. Beers are served in large bottles here (kind of like a 40 by U.S. standards). There is one glass for the entire circle. The bottle of beer and glass start with Person A. Person A pours a shot of beer into the glass and passes the bottle to Person B. Person B holds the bottle while Person A downs the shot. Person A passes the glass to Person B. Person B pours his glass and passes the bottle to Person C. You get the picture. At first I was slightly disgusted by sharing a glass with 20 strangers, but now I’m really into it; it’s a very communal and social way to drink. Plus there are all kinds of weird rules that are fun to discover. For example, when you’re the unlucky one to finish the bottle, not only do you have to find and open the next bottle, but you also have to pour in a sip from the new bottle to get rid of the bad luck. And it starts to get crazy when we introduce an extra glass and bottle going in the opposite direction. Par-tay! These circles are not just for birthday parties; they’re for everything. Soccer games, festivals, parades, cockfights, Sunday afternoons.
Rule #3: You will be fed at least twice. Most birthday parties start in the early afternoon. You arrive, take a seat in a large circle and wait for lunch to be served. Lunch is always served on Styrofoam plates with plastic silverware. Let me tell you, for the inexperienced, it is tough to cut goat with a plastic spoon. I held onto my manners as long as possible, but I finally caved and now eat Peruvian style – sucking the meat off the bone I’m holding in my filthy hands. A couple hours after lunch, you’re served a "snack", which is usually just smaller portions of what you ate for lunch. Although one time we had popcorn. That was pretty exciting and everyone was amazed that I’d eaten popcorn before. A few hours after the snack, you’re served dinner, which is a repeat of lunch and snack. It’s expensive for the hosts to feed everyone, which is why the most popular birthday gift is a caja of beer.
Rule #3b: No cake. This struck me as odd for awhile because Peruvians love their sugary snacks and drinks, but upon further investigation I’ve discovered that big, fancy cakes are a) very expensive or b) impossible to find out in the campo. Oh well, more room for three servings of rice! Extra carbs for extra dancing, which brings me to rule four...
Rule #4: Gringas are popular dance partners. I’m usually the first one on the dance floor and the last one to leave. Women don’t choose dance partners here; we sit demurely in our plastic chairs waiting for an invitation. You don’t stay on the “dance floor” between songs. Once the song ends, everyone goes back to their chairs. Thirty seconds later, everyone is out of their chairs dancing again. I’m still not sure why we have to sit down between songs because it’s not like people aren’t dancing to every song. My best guess is to ensure variety in partners. You also can’t say no to a dance invitation. That would be incredibly rude. Which is why I spent the majority of a recent afternoon dancing with a 75-year-old man who was at least a foot shorter than me. We took a lot of pictures. Granted, it was his birthday.
Rule #4b: Dancing does not start until after at least five spins around the drinking circle. The motivation behind this should be fairly obvious.
Rule #5: Peruvian women never have to use the bathroom. After a few turns around the drinking circle, nature calls for this gringa. Invariably I’m somewhere I’ve never been before, so my usual tactic is to turn to the closest female relative and ask quietly where I could use the bathroom. Now, I am extremely fortunate to have my own bathroom with a toilet. I’d venture to say that 95 percent of the population in this area does not have sewage services, so they use latrines. I’m aware of this fact and am becoming a very low-maintenance girl. I can squat with the best of them. However, no matter how many times I tell my family that I can go anywhere, my inquiries about a bathroom spot always lead to loud shouting across the patio roughly translated as, “hey, my gringa has to pee, but she’s used to a toilet. What should we do?” Slightly embarrassing when everyone turns to look at you. Luckily this only happens once, after being pointed in the right direction, I stick to my spot for the rest of the day. Oddly, no one else ever ventures near my spot. Must be all that weird water I drink. (My host brother is convinced my water is a secret potion that allows me to stay more sober than all the Peruvians. Amateurs.)
Hopefully in my next post I will be able to share some insight as to how it feels when the birthday is your own. At least I’ll know the drill when the “birthday” song comes on (no, not Happy Birthday, some cumbia song) and the guest of honor has to stand in the middle while everyone dances and claps in a circle around him/her.
I’m also happy to report that I finally bought a replacement camera (a little early birthday present to myself). I’m on my way back to site to take pictures of my family, town, house and friends. So stay tuned, This American Life is about to go visual.
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Saturday, October 10, 2009
Daily Dose
I’ve spent a good deal of time collecting and relating humorous and odd stories to share with my faithful blog followers, and while these stories certainly go a long in defining my life here, they don’t tell the whole story. So I thought I’d take an opportunity to provide some detail on the more mundane of my activities for all you die-hard readers. And to answer a common question I’ve been getting recently: “What is it exactly that you’re doing there?” Truth be told, I’m still figuring that out. It’s only been a couple months, people.
First a few more details about my town (I am buying a replacement camera soon and will post tons of pictures. I know straight narrative, while incredibly informative and witty, gets old after awhile). As I’ve mentioned before, it’s tiny. Huaca Rajada claims 1,000 people but I’m pretty sure that also includes the population of Sipán, a neighboring town (kind of like a Carborro to a Chapel Hill, or a Seabrook to a Kiawah). We have electricity all the time, except when it goes out inexplicably for a few hours, and running water a few hours a day, except on the days when it just doesn’t turn on. Living conditions are pretty basic. There are a lot of families, mine included, that still don’t have indoor bathrooms or plumbing. It’s definitely a poor part of the world, but it’s amazing how quickly you can get used to the physical “hardships” when you don’t have a choice.
My primary project is to work with a group of artisans. There’s a new artisan complex that was completed in early 2009, which is where my group works. There are eight different workshops that vary from honey to leather, and a number of individuals who rent space in the complex to sell their goods, which are more artesian in the traditional sense – ceramics, jewelry, etc. The complex is located just outside a small site museum which houses discoveries from the nearby pyramids, which are still a live excavation site, in order to take advantage of the tourist traffic. The JACA (name of the artisan association as a whole) was only formalized about 8 months ago so there are still a number of growing pains, especially in balancing the individual workshop within the context of a formal association. Group dynamics and conflicts are already proving to be one of the biggest challenges. I’m trying not to get involved with any of the gossip or petty grievances and maintain my role as “consultant,” which can be difficult because I definitely like some people better than others, and can see who is working and who is not. I’m finding that first impressions standfast and it’s hard to undo what I’ve already, however unwillingly, done, which is gravitate toward the most active and friendly people in the complex. I’ve been trying for six weeks now to call a group meeting to start talking about schedules and possible activities, but that so far has been an exercise in futility. So for now, I just kind of hang around and talk to whoever will listen about record keeping, marketing or formalization.
Anyway, I usually wake up around 8 or so, go for a run, eat breakfast on my own, and depending on the length of my run, the weather, and any sort of meeting I might have planned, either rinse off with a refreshing bucket bath or wait around until the water turns on (usually around 10.30am) to shower. I generally spend the late morning in my room, reading, writing or working on various Peace Corps reports/studies. I eat lunch with my family, watch a little of the afternoon telenovela and then spend the afternoon at the artisan complex. My afternoons at the complejo vary – sometimes it’s really busy with a lot of tourists and there’s tons of people of to talk to, other times it’s really quiet and I’ll help my crazy artisan friend make cookies or Popsicles (I’m learning lots of delicious recipes). Sometimes there are random meetings that I’ll sit in on (I was recently forced to stand up and explain “in my own words” my understanding of the swine flu) or I’ll go hang around the museum and talk to the guides. I come back to my house around 5.30 or 6 and read or write in my room until it’s time for dinner. After dinner we watch a little TV. Or more accurately, my family watches a ton of TV and I excuse myself after what I deem an appropriate amount of family bonding time (which is a sliding scale dependent on such factors as: quality of programming, my level of fatigue, the degree of palatability of dinner and/or quality of secret stash of candy left in my room). Once alone in my room I’ll read some more or watch a movie/TV show on my laptop. And then I’m asleep by about 10pm. Wow, actually writing it down makes my life seem pretty lame. But hidden within each seemingly innocuous activity described above are numerous human interactions, daily oddities and countless “ah-ha” moments that make my life here anything but normal.
And then there are all the days where I do crazy stuff or attend “cultural celebrations” (see previous entries). Both my host parents have more than 10 siblings, so when you factor in all the cousins, in-laws, aunts and uncles…well that’s a lot of birthdays. And a lot of birthday parties. Basically it’s a crapshoot as to how each day will turn out. I’ve found that having one thing planned, even if it’s only a tentative agreement to play jacks with the kids outside my window, goes a long way to keeping me sane. I make a lot of to do lists so I can feel accomplished by crossing off brush teeth, for example. Easy win. I’m also implementing a new rule of Spanish vocabulary practice. I feel increasingly more comfortable with my Spanish, but I’m often struck dumb by a limited vocabulary. You know there’s a language barrier when my most complex conversations are the ones I have in my head with characters from The West Wing. In my defense, it’s a smart show.
I also rely on my fellow volunteers for sanity. Phone calls are always welcome interruptions and great ways to remind each other that no, it is weird to be invited to join the Civil Defense Committee or the Town Appreciation Festival Planning Committee. Our occasional weekends in the capital city are much-needed breaks. We trickle in slowly from towns scattered around the department. We arrive dirty and dusty and oftentimes slightly tipsy from whatever family event we’ve been dragged to on our way. We don’t need to tell each other all the crazy things that have happened to us in the intervening weeks. But we do, we stay up late talking and laughing. We share twin beds and boxes of wine and hugs. We recognize in each other the same dazed expressions, similar hopes and fears, twisted senses of humor and a bond born from an intensely emotional and strange situation. It’s a nice reminder that no matter how lonely I might feel, I’m never really alone.
And, of course, there are the amazingly uplifting phone calls, letters and emails from home. You have no idea how much it means to hear from y’all. Your support, your laughter, your stories, your voices…I don’t have the words. Call me anytime. Anytime.
As always, miss you and am thinking of you all.
First a few more details about my town (I am buying a replacement camera soon and will post tons of pictures. I know straight narrative, while incredibly informative and witty, gets old after awhile). As I’ve mentioned before, it’s tiny. Huaca Rajada claims 1,000 people but I’m pretty sure that also includes the population of Sipán, a neighboring town (kind of like a Carborro to a Chapel Hill, or a Seabrook to a Kiawah). We have electricity all the time, except when it goes out inexplicably for a few hours, and running water a few hours a day, except on the days when it just doesn’t turn on. Living conditions are pretty basic. There are a lot of families, mine included, that still don’t have indoor bathrooms or plumbing. It’s definitely a poor part of the world, but it’s amazing how quickly you can get used to the physical “hardships” when you don’t have a choice.
My primary project is to work with a group of artisans. There’s a new artisan complex that was completed in early 2009, which is where my group works. There are eight different workshops that vary from honey to leather, and a number of individuals who rent space in the complex to sell their goods, which are more artesian in the traditional sense – ceramics, jewelry, etc. The complex is located just outside a small site museum which houses discoveries from the nearby pyramids, which are still a live excavation site, in order to take advantage of the tourist traffic. The JACA (name of the artisan association as a whole) was only formalized about 8 months ago so there are still a number of growing pains, especially in balancing the individual workshop within the context of a formal association. Group dynamics and conflicts are already proving to be one of the biggest challenges. I’m trying not to get involved with any of the gossip or petty grievances and maintain my role as “consultant,” which can be difficult because I definitely like some people better than others, and can see who is working and who is not. I’m finding that first impressions standfast and it’s hard to undo what I’ve already, however unwillingly, done, which is gravitate toward the most active and friendly people in the complex. I’ve been trying for six weeks now to call a group meeting to start talking about schedules and possible activities, but that so far has been an exercise in futility. So for now, I just kind of hang around and talk to whoever will listen about record keeping, marketing or formalization.
Anyway, I usually wake up around 8 or so, go for a run, eat breakfast on my own, and depending on the length of my run, the weather, and any sort of meeting I might have planned, either rinse off with a refreshing bucket bath or wait around until the water turns on (usually around 10.30am) to shower. I generally spend the late morning in my room, reading, writing or working on various Peace Corps reports/studies. I eat lunch with my family, watch a little of the afternoon telenovela and then spend the afternoon at the artisan complex. My afternoons at the complejo vary – sometimes it’s really busy with a lot of tourists and there’s tons of people of to talk to, other times it’s really quiet and I’ll help my crazy artisan friend make cookies or Popsicles (I’m learning lots of delicious recipes). Sometimes there are random meetings that I’ll sit in on (I was recently forced to stand up and explain “in my own words” my understanding of the swine flu) or I’ll go hang around the museum and talk to the guides. I come back to my house around 5.30 or 6 and read or write in my room until it’s time for dinner. After dinner we watch a little TV. Or more accurately, my family watches a ton of TV and I excuse myself after what I deem an appropriate amount of family bonding time (which is a sliding scale dependent on such factors as: quality of programming, my level of fatigue, the degree of palatability of dinner and/or quality of secret stash of candy left in my room). Once alone in my room I’ll read some more or watch a movie/TV show on my laptop. And then I’m asleep by about 10pm. Wow, actually writing it down makes my life seem pretty lame. But hidden within each seemingly innocuous activity described above are numerous human interactions, daily oddities and countless “ah-ha” moments that make my life here anything but normal.
And then there are all the days where I do crazy stuff or attend “cultural celebrations” (see previous entries). Both my host parents have more than 10 siblings, so when you factor in all the cousins, in-laws, aunts and uncles…well that’s a lot of birthdays. And a lot of birthday parties. Basically it’s a crapshoot as to how each day will turn out. I’ve found that having one thing planned, even if it’s only a tentative agreement to play jacks with the kids outside my window, goes a long way to keeping me sane. I make a lot of to do lists so I can feel accomplished by crossing off brush teeth, for example. Easy win. I’m also implementing a new rule of Spanish vocabulary practice. I feel increasingly more comfortable with my Spanish, but I’m often struck dumb by a limited vocabulary. You know there’s a language barrier when my most complex conversations are the ones I have in my head with characters from The West Wing. In my defense, it’s a smart show.
I also rely on my fellow volunteers for sanity. Phone calls are always welcome interruptions and great ways to remind each other that no, it is weird to be invited to join the Civil Defense Committee or the Town Appreciation Festival Planning Committee. Our occasional weekends in the capital city are much-needed breaks. We trickle in slowly from towns scattered around the department. We arrive dirty and dusty and oftentimes slightly tipsy from whatever family event we’ve been dragged to on our way. We don’t need to tell each other all the crazy things that have happened to us in the intervening weeks. But we do, we stay up late talking and laughing. We share twin beds and boxes of wine and hugs. We recognize in each other the same dazed expressions, similar hopes and fears, twisted senses of humor and a bond born from an intensely emotional and strange situation. It’s a nice reminder that no matter how lonely I might feel, I’m never really alone.
And, of course, there are the amazingly uplifting phone calls, letters and emails from home. You have no idea how much it means to hear from y’all. Your support, your laughter, your stories, your voices…I don’t have the words. Call me anytime. Anytime.
As always, miss you and am thinking of you all.
Thursday, October 1, 2009
Busy Bee
(written 27 September)
And so it continues. I’m happy to report that the past week has been pleasantly positive and righteously ridiculous. I’m moving steadily forward with my Year of Yes campaign. The last week has found me in the following situations: dressed as a beekeeper in a parade, judging a livestock competition, serving as reina of said competition, as the lone female at a Sunday night cockfight, and sharing three twin beds with five people. But let’s start from the beginning.
As you all surely know, September 23 is national beekeeping day in Peru. Fortunately for you readers, I was not aware of this fact (makes for a much better story). Last Wednesday I woke to my host dad knocking on my window at 7am. This has never happened, my family pretty much leaves me on my own in the mornings. Confused I groggily answered (through the window mind you, without opening the curtain to actually look at him) and agreed to accompany him to Chiclayo in about an hour. Having no idea what I’m doing or why is pretty common, so I’m going about my getting ready routine (brush teeth, put on same clothes from yesterday, boil water, drink coffee) when my host sister knocks on my door and hands me a beekeeping outfit (white jumpsuit, mask, rubber gloves and boots) and instructs me to pack it in my backpack. I assumed that perhaps I’d misunderstood and we were in fact going out to the campo to look at my dad’s bees. Nonplussed, I stuffed the outfit in my pack and took off the earrings I’d put on for my day in the big city (note, adding earrings to an outfit clearly denotes special occasion). We get on the combi a short time later and I find out we actually are headed to Chiclayo. As the plans unfold I begin to understand that we will be participating in a parade. I had a sneaking suspicion that this could only end with me looking a fool. Correct I was. Papy and I make our way to the beekeeper’s lodge, don our jumpsuits and proudly take our places in the back of a pick-up truck with Miss Beekeeper 2009, a small child dressed as a bee, and a lot of balloons. We then proceed to drive all over the city for the next two hours, waving signs, clapping, blowing our whistles, the whole bit. Unfortunately since this was the inaugural celebration of Peruvian beekeepers, the parade was less a parade and more like two pick-up trucks and a motorcycle. Don’t worry though; we’re already in talks about next year’s pasacalle. Pretty sure I’ve agreed to help organize. Anything for the union. For the hundredth time in the last month, I really really wished my camera hadn’t been stolen. I look good in white.
In what turned out to be a Papy and Jessica bonding week, I also agreed to accompany (This is a very popular word in Peruvian Spanish, by the way. I think it makes me seem important and helpful) him to a fair over the weekend. This was also an inaugural event, it turned out to be less artisan fair and more livestock competition. One of my artisans (the slightly crazy lady I mentioned in a previous blog) was not pleased by this turn of events and kept grumbling about how no one wanted to buy her algarroba. I too was a little confused the first morning since we were camped out in the middle of a shantytown, pigs being slaughtered to our left and fried to our right. Until I met some of the organizers and they invited me to join the first drinking circle of the day…at 10am. After that, I started having a lot more fun. Highlights from Friday include: sitting on the stage with the mayor for the breaking of bread (or goat as the case may be), dancing with the mayor and various other veterinarians on the stage, being serenaded by a Renaissance minstrel group (yes, they were wearing tights. No, this did not diminish their coolness in the least. A musician is a musician.). Pleased with myself for making so many new friends, I readily agreed to come back the next day. Arriving on Saturday morning, I was again reminded of how absolutely inconspicuous all of my actions are. Everyone in this little town knew my name, everyone reminded me of promises made and everyone was ready for me to join their drinking circle again. Prudently and politely I spent the morning talking to the few artisans and trying to get the word out about the great work in Huaca Rajada. After I managed to score an interview on a local news station talking about my work, I decided I’d earned a little break. I went over to look for some of my new friends and found them occupied (being veterinarians and cattle ranchers) in the organization of the cow judging. They invited me to join them. I, of course, said yes. Several hours later and more cows than I was able to count, I had someone finagled my way into position as both a judge in the competition and its queen (resplendent in a sparkly sash and all). The afternoon is somewhat a blur, but I do recall touching a number of udders, begging for a milking competition (we ran out of time), posing for countless pictures and agreeing to let my new friends plan a birthday party for me. Sadly we don’t get a lot of access to media here in the campo so I can’t report with certainty that my picture or interview actually made it to print/broadcast, but I’m fairly optimistic my reputation will precede me at any future argoindustrial event in the area.
These experiences (and countless others that I lack the energy and wit to properly recount now) have been hilarious and go a long way to making feel like I’m welcome and really integrating in the community. But at the same time I feel like I’m getting more out of this experience than I’m giving. I’m ready to bring more to the table than just sheer entertainment value. I plan on starting up some English classes at the museum/artisan complex in the next couple weeks. There’s also a group of kids that wants me to help them start an organic garden. That should be interesting considering I’ve never managed to keep an herb plant alive, much less things you actually have to plant and care for. It’s non-stop learning down here, friends.
Stay tuned for the next installment of “hey, let’s see what we can make the gringa do today!” I miss you all!
Bzzzily yours,
Jess
Postscript: In the days since writing the above post, I’ve come to an abrupt and humbling end to my reign as Miss Iron Stomach 2009. I’ve spent the past three days unable to leave a 10 foot radius of my, thank God, private bathroom. Amazing what illness and lack of food can do to a girl’s perspective. I no longer find the intestines bleaching on the clothesline funny. Nor do I find Peruvian’s grasp on modern medicine endearing. Just so you know – it’s not all fun and games here in the Peace Corps. Sometimes we’re sick. Sometimes we’re lonely. Sometimes we’re desperately bored. And when we’re really lucky, we’re all three. But I’m feeling better and I’m pretty sure I made plans to attend this weekend’s cockfight, where there will be a cock fighting in my honor. And I’ll leave it at that.
And so it continues. I’m happy to report that the past week has been pleasantly positive and righteously ridiculous. I’m moving steadily forward with my Year of Yes campaign. The last week has found me in the following situations: dressed as a beekeeper in a parade, judging a livestock competition, serving as reina of said competition, as the lone female at a Sunday night cockfight, and sharing three twin beds with five people. But let’s start from the beginning.
As you all surely know, September 23 is national beekeeping day in Peru. Fortunately for you readers, I was not aware of this fact (makes for a much better story). Last Wednesday I woke to my host dad knocking on my window at 7am. This has never happened, my family pretty much leaves me on my own in the mornings. Confused I groggily answered (through the window mind you, without opening the curtain to actually look at him) and agreed to accompany him to Chiclayo in about an hour. Having no idea what I’m doing or why is pretty common, so I’m going about my getting ready routine (brush teeth, put on same clothes from yesterday, boil water, drink coffee) when my host sister knocks on my door and hands me a beekeeping outfit (white jumpsuit, mask, rubber gloves and boots) and instructs me to pack it in my backpack. I assumed that perhaps I’d misunderstood and we were in fact going out to the campo to look at my dad’s bees. Nonplussed, I stuffed the outfit in my pack and took off the earrings I’d put on for my day in the big city (note, adding earrings to an outfit clearly denotes special occasion). We get on the combi a short time later and I find out we actually are headed to Chiclayo. As the plans unfold I begin to understand that we will be participating in a parade. I had a sneaking suspicion that this could only end with me looking a fool. Correct I was. Papy and I make our way to the beekeeper’s lodge, don our jumpsuits and proudly take our places in the back of a pick-up truck with Miss Beekeeper 2009, a small child dressed as a bee, and a lot of balloons. We then proceed to drive all over the city for the next two hours, waving signs, clapping, blowing our whistles, the whole bit. Unfortunately since this was the inaugural celebration of Peruvian beekeepers, the parade was less a parade and more like two pick-up trucks and a motorcycle. Don’t worry though; we’re already in talks about next year’s pasacalle. Pretty sure I’ve agreed to help organize. Anything for the union. For the hundredth time in the last month, I really really wished my camera hadn’t been stolen. I look good in white.
In what turned out to be a Papy and Jessica bonding week, I also agreed to accompany (This is a very popular word in Peruvian Spanish, by the way. I think it makes me seem important and helpful) him to a fair over the weekend. This was also an inaugural event, it turned out to be less artisan fair and more livestock competition. One of my artisans (the slightly crazy lady I mentioned in a previous blog) was not pleased by this turn of events and kept grumbling about how no one wanted to buy her algarroba. I too was a little confused the first morning since we were camped out in the middle of a shantytown, pigs being slaughtered to our left and fried to our right. Until I met some of the organizers and they invited me to join the first drinking circle of the day…at 10am. After that, I started having a lot more fun. Highlights from Friday include: sitting on the stage with the mayor for the breaking of bread (or goat as the case may be), dancing with the mayor and various other veterinarians on the stage, being serenaded by a Renaissance minstrel group (yes, they were wearing tights. No, this did not diminish their coolness in the least. A musician is a musician.). Pleased with myself for making so many new friends, I readily agreed to come back the next day. Arriving on Saturday morning, I was again reminded of how absolutely inconspicuous all of my actions are. Everyone in this little town knew my name, everyone reminded me of promises made and everyone was ready for me to join their drinking circle again. Prudently and politely I spent the morning talking to the few artisans and trying to get the word out about the great work in Huaca Rajada. After I managed to score an interview on a local news station talking about my work, I decided I’d earned a little break. I went over to look for some of my new friends and found them occupied (being veterinarians and cattle ranchers) in the organization of the cow judging. They invited me to join them. I, of course, said yes. Several hours later and more cows than I was able to count, I had someone finagled my way into position as both a judge in the competition and its queen (resplendent in a sparkly sash and all). The afternoon is somewhat a blur, but I do recall touching a number of udders, begging for a milking competition (we ran out of time), posing for countless pictures and agreeing to let my new friends plan a birthday party for me. Sadly we don’t get a lot of access to media here in the campo so I can’t report with certainty that my picture or interview actually made it to print/broadcast, but I’m fairly optimistic my reputation will precede me at any future argoindustrial event in the area.
These experiences (and countless others that I lack the energy and wit to properly recount now) have been hilarious and go a long way to making feel like I’m welcome and really integrating in the community. But at the same time I feel like I’m getting more out of this experience than I’m giving. I’m ready to bring more to the table than just sheer entertainment value. I plan on starting up some English classes at the museum/artisan complex in the next couple weeks. There’s also a group of kids that wants me to help them start an organic garden. That should be interesting considering I’ve never managed to keep an herb plant alive, much less things you actually have to plant and care for. It’s non-stop learning down here, friends.
Stay tuned for the next installment of “hey, let’s see what we can make the gringa do today!” I miss you all!
Bzzzily yours,
Jess
Postscript: In the days since writing the above post, I’ve come to an abrupt and humbling end to my reign as Miss Iron Stomach 2009. I’ve spent the past three days unable to leave a 10 foot radius of my, thank God, private bathroom. Amazing what illness and lack of food can do to a girl’s perspective. I no longer find the intestines bleaching on the clothesline funny. Nor do I find Peruvian’s grasp on modern medicine endearing. Just so you know – it’s not all fun and games here in the Peace Corps. Sometimes we’re sick. Sometimes we’re lonely. Sometimes we’re desperately bored. And when we’re really lucky, we’re all three. But I’m feeling better and I’m pretty sure I made plans to attend this weekend’s cockfight, where there will be a cock fighting in my honor. And I’ll leave it at that.
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