Miguel pulls a Charles Comiskey

“There is nothing more difficult...than to take the lead in introducing a new order of things.”
-Machiavelli

Machiavelli was right. New ideas are not very readily accepted to those unfamiliar with them. And not only are people who try to introduce a new order of things given a hard time and ignored, but they are shunned; many people of their time consider them to be crazy. It is often not until many years later that they are finally given their due respect. Galileo Galilei, for instance, an Italian physicist who publicly supported the heliocentric view of the earth, was denounced by philosophers and clerics of his day, and put on house arrest. Martin Luther was excommunicated by the catholic church for saying that people should be able to read the bible themselves. One-hundred years ago, the most advanced method of training to run a marathon was to walk long distances. What did people think of the first guy they saw running? Hell, in the 1950s, EVERYONE shot free throws GRANNY style. I think we can safely conclude that people get a little anxious, and are indeed skeptical, when it comes to the implementation of new ideas.

Fast forward to 2011 in rural Paraguay. Profesor Miguel is trying to take the lead in introducing a new order of things in the local schools. Specifically, I attempting to have the kindergarten teachers in the area teach words and all of the letters of the alphabet to their students. Currently, the teachers teach the kids only the vowels a, e, i, o, and u. The whole year. Of. Kindergarten. This boggles my mind. When I was a teacher’s aid Galesburg, I saw even the most troubled kids end the year reading at least 20 words, while the brightest kids could read short books. 5 and 6 year olds minds are simply ripe for the word learnin’! And this lack of teaching words in kindergarten has a reverse snowball effect. The kids start off handicapped already, so it is no surprise that their are a lot of drop outs and unsuccessful students.

Luckily I am developing some pretty good persuasion AKA psychological manipulation skills in the Peace Corps in order to deal with situations like this. Here is the conversation I had with my kindergarten teacher today:

Profesora G “Miguel, what are you planning on doing in my kindergarten class this year?”

Miguel “Actually, I was just about to talk to you about that. I would like to talk about some objectives for the end of the year.” (Pause, allow this to sink in.) “This is an intelligent group of kids we have this year. I think we can put some high expectations on them.”

Profesora G “Si, son inteligentes. So what is it that you had in mind?”

Miguel “Gladys, I know this is something that you have never done, but I would like to try to teach them to read words by the end of the year. And all of the letters, not just the vowels.”

Profesora G “But the system has always been, we teach them just the vowels in kindergarten. We don’t start teaching the vowels until July.”

Miguel “Yes, but this is a really smart group. I think we should try to teach them a lot more this year. Why not?”

Profesora G “But they don’t teach words in Farinakue and Kilometro 14 [two nearby schools]. The system is to teach just the vowels in kindergarten.”

Miguel “Gladys, I’m going to be honest. I have seen classes, in Paraguay, where kids leave kindergarten able to read short books. I think we can just try this year, experiment a bit, to see how much we can teach them. I want this kindergarten class to be an example for all of the schools in the area. Why not try at least?”

Profesora G “We shall see what we can do.”

What was funny to me was that how she kept repeating ‘But we always do it this way. That is our system.’ Well, I am a messenger to tell her that a new system is needed, one that maximizes kid and human potential. To stay patient, I often place myself in her shoes, and think about the fact that she probably views me and my ideas as quite ‘out there,’ probably much like the first person who said the world was round was viewed by his peers.

In the early 1900s in baseball, the 1st baseman stood on first base, the 2nd baseman on second, and the 3rd baseman on third base. People thought Charles Comiskey was crazy when he had his players stand off of the the bases to cover more ground. Oh he was crazy. Crazy like a fox...

Galelio, Martin Luther, Profesor Miguel.

I can now say my name is published in a sentence with historical legends. Gotta love the internet.



Citrus fruits and avocados, baby.

Tales from the Vault: Peace Corps Legends

Peace Corps Paraguay has had many legendary tales unfold in the 40 years it has been in Paraguay; and as volunteers we hear many of these stories. Some seem so crazy that it’s hard to believe they are real: tales of Paraguayan-American love and heartbreak, some pretty shocking violence, and others about PCVs who lost their marbles at some point during their service and went a bit crazy. One of my favorite pieces of folklore about PCVs gone loco is as follows. Though you may not believe it, Tale From the Vault #1 has been corroborated to me by several very separate sources:



Tale #1: Girl attempts to murder cow after cow eats her last pair of underwear

Laura was a volunteer in a rural site in the late 90s. As per norm in Paraguay, she would hang up her clothes on the barbed wire outside her house after washing them herself. This system worked great for drying most of her clothes with one tragic exception. Her neighbor’s cow, who grazed around her yard, had a remarkable proclivity for eating her underwear. The cow would eat no other clothes; he preferred only her undergarments.

Laura attempted to remedy the situation. She made a clothesline and strung it between two trees, but the only sunny spot around her house was the barbed wire. And this was her house, dammit. Laura was living here for two years and had the right to put her clothes out to dry where she pleased, she thought. The cow wouldn’t continue eating her underwear; it was probably just a phase. She talked to her neighbor and told him to please tie up the cow on days when she was drying her clothes. She returned to put her clothes on the barbed wire to dry. With a few isolated exceptions, this system worked fine for about another month. That is, worked fine until one fateful day.

Laura had her just washed all of her clothes and hung them up to dry. Her neighbor had tied up his cow, but Laura was vigilantly watching her clothes as they slowly dried on the barbed wire, just in case. Right before lunch, one of her friends walked by:

Friend “Hola Laura, we go to my house for lunch. Ja’úta la ryguasy fidéore. We will eat chicken with pasta.” Laura’s mouth started to water at the possibility of eating chicken...she had been eating only rice for the few days.

Laura “No puedo. Amaña che aohina. I can’t, I watch my clothes dry.”

Friend “ Estas loca, mujer? Are you crazy, woman? Jaha cherogape. We go to my house.”

Laura “Pues...jaha sapyaite. We go for a little while.” Invitations to eat chicken were few and far between. Plus, passing up the invite could even be offensive. But the sun was out right now...she would leave her clothes out. She wouldn’t be gone long. Besides, the cow was tied up at the moment.

Laura arrived back at her house with a belly full of rico pasta and homegrown chicken. What she saw, was the end of a massacre, the cow the assassin and her underwear the victim. The cow, in his mouth, had just taken the very last pair of her underwear into his mouth and was now slowly chewing them just as it would chew grass. As she stared down into the mouth of the cow chowing down, her eyes caught flashes of the hot pink fabric, and sometimes the white lining. Those were my favorite pair. With the calm of Michael Jordan lifting off for a jump shot after juking Bryan Russell in the finals (no sir that was not a pushoff, you know what I’m talking about), she walked into her house to grab her weapon. Laura knew what needed to be done.

* * *
John, the American expat who lived in the nearby town of San Juan, heard his phone ring and picked it up. He did not recognize the voice on the other end.

Voice “Senor Juan, come quick! Your compadre, the americana Laura, está loca! Quiere matar mi vaca! She wants to kill my cow! I can’t hold her back!”

John “Laura, the volunteer towards Pindo’yu? Dios mio. I’ll be there shortly.”

John knew where all of the volunteers in the area lived and within about ten minutes he was able to make out to Laura’s site. The scene to which he arrived was, well, quite the scene. The first thing he noticed was a white and black cow that seemed to have streaks of red blood streaming down its back. 20 feet, away, scissors held high above her head, Laura was literally being physically held back from attacking the cow by her neighbors as she screamed in alternate English, Spanish, and Guarani:

Laura “YOU STUPID COW, I WILL KILL YOU. THIS IS THE LAST STRAW. YOU WILL NOT EAT ANY MORE OF MY UNDERWEAR. TE VOY A MATAR. JA’UTA ASADO ESTA NOCHE. WE ARE HAVING A BARBACUE TONIGHT, PEOPLE.”

But like the Chicago Bears’ offensive line, her neighbors couldn’t hold her forever. As John got out of his jeep, Laura broke free from the grip of her holders, and made a run for the cow again, sticking the scissors in the cow’s back again The wound was not even close to fatal for the cow, and the Paraguayan crowd that had formed around her was clearly more in shock from watching this gringo’s breakdown then from the damage being done to the animal. Laura stood next to the cow, uttering incoherent babblings at a very loud volume. John approached her.

John “Hey Laura, it’s me, John. You O.K.?”

Laura “Do I look freaking okay? This cow just ate my LAST pair of underwear. I HAVE HAD IT!” She broke down and started to cry. “I just, this has been a rough week for me...can you go pick up my boyfriend Nick and bring him here?”

John brought Nick, and luckily he was able to calm her down somewhat. Though I’m sure the Paraguayans in her site had a hard time looking at her after that without picturing a scissors in her hands. Everyone has their breaking point, and I totally can see where this girl was coming from, especially as a volunteer in the 90s. Nowadays, we volunteers all have cell phones, electricity, most have laptops. The experience of the Peace Corps Volunteer has drastically changed. If I am having a bad day because a cow has eaten my underwear, I can easily call one of my friends and complain about my shitty day, no problem. We laugh about it, it’s off my chest, problem solved...in most cases. I can blog about it. Hell, I can even text my mom back in the U.S. And I am one of the more isolated volunteers. Back then though, if a volunteer was having a bad day, or bad week, we sometimes turned to less constructive ways of dealing with our stress, evidently.

And yes, Laura made it through her two years without leaving early.

Keeping with the theme of PVCs battling with animals, my next post, unless I get lazy, will be:

The Epic Battle Begins: Miguel vs. the Pigs (and no I don’t mean cops)

THE DRAMA IS HEATING UP IN KILOMETRO 16!!!

Lukie and some lighter things

About a week ago, my dog, Lukie, got hit by a car and died. I’m not a fan of emo blog posts, so I’ll just say I was a little broken up about it. When he was born and I adopted him last July, I promised myself I wouldn’t get attached since I knew the logistics of bringing a dog home after Peace Corps are a little complicated/still not sure where I’ll be living after PC etc. But this summer the little guy and I bonded, and just recently I made the decision in my mind that he would have to come home with me. People around town were absolutely flabbergasted by all the tricks he could do: Eguapy (sit), Mba’e la porte (shake, but much more colloquial Guarani sounding), Speak, Lie down (those I taught in english), Eka’u (roll over, but Eka’u literally means ‘get drunk.’) Many people had never seen a dog do tricks, and they always put forth the typical amazed reaction, with a widening of the eyes and saying: “Miguel, demasiado letrado nde jagua”, which translates funnily as “Miguel your dog is much too scholarly.” Damn right. Also funny to me was that Lukie would never do tricks for anyone else; only me. I think it had something to do with my unique accent when I said the commands (in Guarani and English as well). Many a time, after hearing Lukie ‘speak’ when I told him to, my neighbors would launch into hilariously fruitless attempts to get him to speak again themselves: “Lukie, eespick. Eespii Lukie.” Lukie would respond by lying down and licking himself.

Lukie was even allowed to come into classes where I was teaching and everyone thought it was completely normal. Also, they aren’t too nice to the dogs here (I have never seen a trained dog, and they often hit the dogs if they are misbehaving/begging for food), but Lukie could do whatever/go wherever he wanted. Once one of my friends saw Lukie begging and slapped him. So I go, “Miguela, Que haces a mi perrito?” (what are you doing to my dog?). And she goes “oohhh No sabia que era tu perro. Lo siento, aca lo voy a dar algo de carne” (OMG I’m so sorry Miguel. I didn’t know that was your dog. Here, let me give him a little something to eat.) And with that she gave him a HUGE piece of meat (very generous, meat is expensive).

So it’s somewhat sad/weird not to have the little guy around anymore. My host family is already asking me if I want another puppy. Right now I’m not sure if I can handle the responsibility of raising another pup in general, let alone the fact that I will be continuously be comparing him to how awesome Lukie was.

On a lighter note, many things are awesome about Paraguay right now:

-Oranges and avocados are in season. I live in an orange grove. Two of my friends have giant avocado trees. Let the fruit fiesta begin.

- My current girlfriend, Shakira, (at least that’s what I tell everyone in my site, believe me when I say it never gets old) performed a concert in Asuncion last Tuesday, her first concert ever in Paraguay. In case there was any doubt, the woman knows how to sing/dance/perform. Unfortunately I couldn’t get the backstage access I thought Peace Corps Volunteers would be entitled to.

-After getting my account filled with over a milllon Guaranies (the local currency) at the beginning of the month, I promptly blew it all on some shopping therapy in the local supermarket (Shotout to Megan and Nika for their middle school project). I bought a ton of veggies and fruit, a cutting board, peanut butter, sunscreen, really strong Brazilian instant coffee, and goodies for the St. Paddy’s Day celebration this week, you know the necessities. I now have fridge full of food that will last me about 2 weeks, and less than $10 for the rest of the month. There are 3 weeks before the next payday. Hopefully I get lots of dinner invitations in March.

-I went for my first hour plus run since I’ve been in Paraguay this morning. Asuncion marathon in August? Maybe just the half.

-I had this weird line of discoloration on my stomach, so I went to the doctor and got it checked out. I was worried it could be a rash, maybe dengue; something that could kill me, or worse. The doctor tells me it's a LEMON JUICE stain. I mean I knew girls sometimes used that stuff to bleach their hair, but I had not idea it could have the same effect on skin. Needless to say from this point forward I will exercise caution when eating lemons (and limes, just in case) shirtless. No more suns out guns out during lunch at my host family's.

Duck, Duck, Pig?

One of the first days I was at my school here in Kilometro 16 back last May, the Kindergarten teacher asked me if I would show her students a new game. As the resident Peace Corps “Elementary Education Expert,” I felt obligated to oblige her. I decided to go with the old classic, Duck, Duck, Goose. How can you go wrong with Duck Duck Goose?

As I organized the kids in a circle and started explaining the rules, I realized that I didn’t know the Spanish word for “Goose.” I continue explaining: “And you walk around like this and touch each person on the head and say duck, but for one of them you must say...” All I could picture was a pig running around in my head, and before I knew it, pig (chancho) had come out of my mouth (just the word, to clarify). And so it was willed that the children of Kilometro learned Duck, Duck, Pig instead of Duck, Duck, Goose.

I haven’t thought much of that incident until today, when I heard some kids (third graders) playing Duck Duck Pig. They are STILL PLAYING EXACTLY THE WAY I TAUGHT THEM. And THIRD graders this time, not even in the grade I taught the game. Duck Duck Pig is clearly catching fire here. Kind of made me think about Malcolm Gladwell’s tipping point phenomenon. Some things are simply destined to catch on due to human nature...digital watches in the 70s, big fat hair and crazy socks in the 80s, hush puppies in the 90s, and the in the 00’s. http://www.webdesigntk.com/hosting-reviews/bluehost-vs-ipage/ Clearly we are only just in the year 2011, and have 9 more years to go in the decade. But I think it may be written that the 10’s are all about Duck Duck Pig, at least in Paraguay. For all the other PCV’s who read my blog, you heard it first here: volunteer Mike Dooley invented Duck Duck Pig (Pato, Pato, Chancho) in May of 2010. When you hear kids in the schools playing it, make sure they know to whom they must pay homage.