My blogs quite often mention culinary adventures and misadventures and this blog will not disappoint in that respect because, even though my main topic will be my recent foray into HIV/AIDS education, the killed a goat this week and the aftermath is too gross to go unblogged. My host dad's birthday was Monday which meant, apart from copious amounts of booze (not on my part), a good slaughter. Goat is the typical birthday food of the region where I live and I have come to love it. They cook it up with vinegar, cilantro, veggies, and other deliciously flavorful ingredients and serve it up with white rice LOADED with MSG. Before Peru I always thought of MSG as a negative but I have started to see it as a necessity for everyday cooking (this is what we refer to in the Peace Corps as TOO integrated into Peruvian customs). On the day of the birthday we got all the yummy parts of the goat that we back home in the States consider meat. For the days after, every meal is devoted to using up the rest of the goat which, in my previous life, I would never have known to be edible. These days every time I open the fridge I have to suppress my gagging because some organ or other is looking at me. When I use the word "looking," I mean this quite literally. The past few days the first thing I see when I open the fridge to get my water is a goat head, complete with eyeballs but missing skin. This finally got cooked in the typical post birthday lunch of head stew but I found it even more disturbing to open the pot where I expected to find boiled water and instead I found a boiled head, still with eyeballs, staring at me. The legs (with hooves and fur), liver, heart, intestines, and all other manner of organs still await their turn in the fridge. The use of every last bit of the animal is excellent from a sustainability perspective but I am just not there yet. The lack of money does glorious things for the ecological footprint and hopefully I will come back to the US a little tougher and more willing to apply these concepts to my own life. I will be back for Thanksgiving in 2011 so bring on the giblet gravy!
As promised, I am branching out from the culinary theme to tell everyone a little about my adventures as a sex ed teacher. The Peace Corps gives us the opportunity to apply for various grants and one of these is PEPFAR (President's Emergency Prevention Fund for AIDS Relief). This program was a positive pre-emptive strike taken by George W. (insert snide remarks here) in order to prevent the spread of HIV/AIDS in certain target countries around the world. I applied for a grant and, with the help of my excellent obstetrician, am executing an education campaign in the high school and other local institutions to prevent teen pregnancy, HIV/AIDS, and other STDs. This project encompasses a huge range of topics and right now we are working on sexuality and sexual development. I have to admit I was very intimidated at first to talk to high schoolers about sex in Spanish but it is really fun. They laugh at me because I only know the vulgar words for a lot of stuff rather than the pc scientific words. Our lesson today was about physical development. The kids worked in two groups, one drew a naked man, and the other drew a naked woman. We then discussed what they had drawn and the importance of these changes for development. Part of the reason these activities are so fun is because throughout the course of one lesson, the kids go from being shy, immature, and uncomfortable to being mature and genuinely interested in how to develop into sexually responsible adults. Sometimes a giggle escapes me when I learn a new phrase (i.e. wet dream) and I find myself being less mature about stuff than they are about this subject. I might have to grow up a little before I go give a talk to the municipal authorities or the teachers but for now I am having a lot of fun.
Friday, September 24, 2010
Sunday, September 19, 2010
Getting Dirty
After a year in Peru, My Spanish flows pretty well most days and I even find myself thinking to myself in Spanish but one area that is definitely lacking is my slang. I often don't get the jokes people tell because the punch line is a play on words or a double entendre. Recently I got an excellent lesson in dirty jokes and dirty words from the group of women that I work with planting trees in the Pomac Forest. While we reforest, make compost, and talk about how to save this forest, the women also chat in a version of Spanish that I have never heard before. They also often talk about topics that I can't particularly relate to like livestock and crops. I love to listen but I do find that every other word is slang unique to the rural villages. Slang is much more prevalent here than even in the small urban center where I live. The women I work with have recently taken it upon themselves to help me out with my language shortcomings. Our recent conversation began with a few PG potty jokes but quickly devolved into an exchange I wasn't quite comfortable having with this group of women I think of as surrogate grandmothers. The examples that stick out in my mind include a joke where a child asks his teacher if hearts have legs after overhearing his father say to his mother "open your legs my heart." Once I realized what they were saying I started cracking up because I couldn't believe these grandmotherly ladies would say such things. They also started talking about something that directly translates to "the bearded cat." I thought about this for a few seconds and again devolved into a fit of laughter as I explained that in English we also have a word that refers to both a cat and a part of the female anatomy. I think I will put this little cultural exchange session on my next progress report that gets sent to congress in order to secure funding…
In other cultural exchange news, I recently took up a new strategy for combating machismo. Originally I just ignored the whistling and catcalls but that was letting to much frustration build up so eventually I started giving a mini-lecture on respect etc. but the other day I was so repulsed by a particular commentator that a new technique just sort of happened. As I was returning from a run I passed by the local bar and a man barely capable of standing upright was urinating on the side of the building. I heard the whistle and the comments following me down the street and the next thing I knew the rocks I was holding were flying towards the side of the building close to the offender (but intentionally not hitting him). The rocks had been meant for warning miss-behaving dogs not to bug me and I think this guy qualified. I have become a much more tolerant person here in Peru but everyone has a breaking point.
While I've been using dirty jocks and flying rocks to promote cultural exchange, I have also been making progress in my actual Peace Corps primary goal work. I recently began a new improved kitchens project where community members in the poorest section of town will collect mud, ash, and a few other cheaply accessible materials to construct stoves that use less firewood (the environmental justification) and send the smoke out of the house via chimneys. This is a simple and easy way to drastically improve health and quality of life and I am really looking forward to constructing my first kitchen. We often debate tangible change versus behavioral change in the Peace Corps and I have found that tangible changes such as the installation of improved kitchens motivate community members but, also allow me as the volunteer to see something on the ground, which is the key to keeping myself working and motivated.
In other cultural exchange news, I recently took up a new strategy for combating machismo. Originally I just ignored the whistling and catcalls but that was letting to much frustration build up so eventually I started giving a mini-lecture on respect etc. but the other day I was so repulsed by a particular commentator that a new technique just sort of happened. As I was returning from a run I passed by the local bar and a man barely capable of standing upright was urinating on the side of the building. I heard the whistle and the comments following me down the street and the next thing I knew the rocks I was holding were flying towards the side of the building close to the offender (but intentionally not hitting him). The rocks had been meant for warning miss-behaving dogs not to bug me and I think this guy qualified. I have become a much more tolerant person here in Peru but everyone has a breaking point.
While I've been using dirty jocks and flying rocks to promote cultural exchange, I have also been making progress in my actual Peace Corps primary goal work. I recently began a new improved kitchens project where community members in the poorest section of town will collect mud, ash, and a few other cheaply accessible materials to construct stoves that use less firewood (the environmental justification) and send the smoke out of the house via chimneys. This is a simple and easy way to drastically improve health and quality of life and I am really looking forward to constructing my first kitchen. We often debate tangible change versus behavioral change in the Peace Corps and I have found that tangible changes such as the installation of improved kitchens motivate community members but, also allow me as the volunteer to see something on the ground, which is the key to keeping myself working and motivated.
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
Getting comfortable
I've reached a point in my service where the Peace Corps has decided that I am ready to apply for funding and execute some "real" projects. In June I attended a training to apply for USAID funding that will be available in October and I am putting together a project that will involve door to door training in recycling and establishing a monthly recycling collection. My host father is an agricultural engineer who is close with many of the local farmers and he has agreed to help me do compost workshops. This is all very exciting but it is also overwhelming as I have struggled to get enough people actually committed to executing the projects. The biggest challenge I have encountered has been translating excitement about projects into actual work. I am definitely getting some life skills and lessons in being persistent from this experience.
Since I have been here for 11 months, I have not been finding as much inspiration for my blogs as I used to. Sure, I have real projects going on and actual funding coming in, however that stuff is not as fun to write about as cultural mishaps, parasites, and culinary adventures. Yesterday I looked in my refrigerator and I realized that these moments haven't gotten any more rare, I have just gotten used to some of the stranger things that I come across on a daily basis. I went to get my water bottle and noticed the full pig legs with hooves that would later be boiled for lunch alongside the bowl of blood and chicken hearts. Even though I live in a house that has electricity (and recently got internet), I am still in rural Peru and life is different in many comical ways. I don't notice these details as much any more but every so often I get caught off guard, which, depending on my mood, makes me laugh or head straight to my room to watch tv alone on my laptop.
Transportation tends to be one of the main sources of frustration/comic relief for me (again depending on my mood). My usual means of travel is by combi, a 15 passenger van with 20+ people stuffed in. Quite often, people bring their livestock to market on these same vans, which makes the hour ride to my capitol city even more fun. The other day I was on a particularly full combi when a duck escaped from a bag under my seat and went hopping around the bus. I was the only one who had a strong reaction to this. Everyone else seemed pretty okay with the situation. If you wonder how one transports livestock larger than a duck on a van full of people, the answer is, you can put anything up to a medium sized pig on the roof. Today My neighbors were prepping for a wedding which entailed 5 men lowering two substantially meaty live pigs down from the roof of a van. This process is not only awkward and goofy looking but it is incredibly loud. I was standing outside my house discussing plans to go to Machu Picchu next month when the high-pitched screaming started. I made a point to avoid my back yard for the rest of the afternoon because I knew the slaughter would be even louder. I often find myself saying "oh Peru…"
Another time when I find myself abruptly remembering that I am in Peru is at parties. Some aspects of the parties are amazing. I get to dance with everyone since I am generally a guest of honor and, my favorite part, I get to eat my favorite dish, goat with squash. I always look forward to these parties as a reminder of what I love most about Peruvian culture, the emphasis on sharing and having as good a time as possible. These parties, although fun, are usually a pretty good test for the skills I learned in fifth grade for resisting peer pressure. I am ok with a few sips of beer with lunch to avoid offending my hosts but when the moonshine comes out I am forced to draw a line. When I have to put up a legitimate fight to not take shots of homemade liquor at 2 in the afternoon, I realize that I am no longer in my comfort zone. I have learned to play it off as a cultural difference explaining that I am not accustomed to such aggressive boozing and I enjoy the dancing that ensues.
I have begun to accept many aspects of the culture, which I never expected to be comfortable with but I still retain many of my foreign judgements and values. I am at a point in my service where I am generally pretty comfortable but Peru never fails to throw me major wake up calls when I am least expecting it. Soon, I will be headed off to Cuzco and Machu Picchu where I will probably feel more out of place amongst tourists than I do among Peruvians.
Since I have been here for 11 months, I have not been finding as much inspiration for my blogs as I used to. Sure, I have real projects going on and actual funding coming in, however that stuff is not as fun to write about as cultural mishaps, parasites, and culinary adventures. Yesterday I looked in my refrigerator and I realized that these moments haven't gotten any more rare, I have just gotten used to some of the stranger things that I come across on a daily basis. I went to get my water bottle and noticed the full pig legs with hooves that would later be boiled for lunch alongside the bowl of blood and chicken hearts. Even though I live in a house that has electricity (and recently got internet), I am still in rural Peru and life is different in many comical ways. I don't notice these details as much any more but every so often I get caught off guard, which, depending on my mood, makes me laugh or head straight to my room to watch tv alone on my laptop.
Transportation tends to be one of the main sources of frustration/comic relief for me (again depending on my mood). My usual means of travel is by combi, a 15 passenger van with 20+ people stuffed in. Quite often, people bring their livestock to market on these same vans, which makes the hour ride to my capitol city even more fun. The other day I was on a particularly full combi when a duck escaped from a bag under my seat and went hopping around the bus. I was the only one who had a strong reaction to this. Everyone else seemed pretty okay with the situation. If you wonder how one transports livestock larger than a duck on a van full of people, the answer is, you can put anything up to a medium sized pig on the roof. Today My neighbors were prepping for a wedding which entailed 5 men lowering two substantially meaty live pigs down from the roof of a van. This process is not only awkward and goofy looking but it is incredibly loud. I was standing outside my house discussing plans to go to Machu Picchu next month when the high-pitched screaming started. I made a point to avoid my back yard for the rest of the afternoon because I knew the slaughter would be even louder. I often find myself saying "oh Peru…"
Another time when I find myself abruptly remembering that I am in Peru is at parties. Some aspects of the parties are amazing. I get to dance with everyone since I am generally a guest of honor and, my favorite part, I get to eat my favorite dish, goat with squash. I always look forward to these parties as a reminder of what I love most about Peruvian culture, the emphasis on sharing and having as good a time as possible. These parties, although fun, are usually a pretty good test for the skills I learned in fifth grade for resisting peer pressure. I am ok with a few sips of beer with lunch to avoid offending my hosts but when the moonshine comes out I am forced to draw a line. When I have to put up a legitimate fight to not take shots of homemade liquor at 2 in the afternoon, I realize that I am no longer in my comfort zone. I have learned to play it off as a cultural difference explaining that I am not accustomed to such aggressive boozing and I enjoy the dancing that ensues.
I have begun to accept many aspects of the culture, which I never expected to be comfortable with but I still retain many of my foreign judgements and values. I am at a point in my service where I am generally pretty comfortable but Peru never fails to throw me major wake up calls when I am least expecting it. Soon, I will be headed off to Cuzco and Machu Picchu where I will probably feel more out of place amongst tourists than I do among Peruvians.
Getting comfortable
I've reached a point in my service where the Peace Corps has decided that I am ready to apply for funding and execute some "real" projects. In June I attended a training to apply for USAID funding that will be available in October and I am putting together a project that will involve door to door training in recycling and establishing a monthly recycling collection. My host father is an agricultural engineer who is close with many of the local farmers and he has agreed to help me do compost workshops. This is all very exciting but it is also overwhelming as I have struggled to get enough people actually committed to executing the projects. The biggest challenge I have encountered has been translating excitement about projects into actual work. I am definitely getting some life skills and lessons in being persistent from this experience.
Since I have been here for 11 months, I have not been finding as much inspiration for my blogs as I used to. Sure, I have real projects going on and actual funding coming in, however that stuff is not as fun to write about as cultural mishaps, parasites, and culinary adventures. Yesterday I looked in my refrigerator and I realized that these moments haven't gotten any more rare, I have just gotten used to some of the stranger things that I come across on a daily basis. I went to get my water bottle and noticed the full pig legs with hooves that would later be boiled for lunch alongside the bowl of blood and chicken hearts. Even though I live in a house that has electricity (and recently got internet), I am still in rural Peru and life is different in many comical ways. I don't notice these details as much any more but every so often I get caught off guard, which, depending on my mood, makes me laugh or head straight to my room to watch tv alone on my laptop.
Transportation tends to be one of the main sources of frustration/comic relief for me (again depending on my mood). My usual means of travel is by combi, a 15 passenger van with 20+ people stuffed in. Quite often, people bring their livestock to market on these same vans, which makes the hour ride to my capitol city even more fun. The other day I was on a particularly full combi when a duck escaped from a bag under my seat and went hopping around the bus. I was the only one who had a strong reaction to this. Everyone else seemed pretty okay with the situation. If you wonder how one transports livestock larger than a duck on a van full of people, the answer is, you can put anything up to a medium sized pig on the roof. Today My neighbors were prepping for a wedding which entailed 5 men lowering two substantially meaty live pigs down from the roof of a van. This process is not only awkward and goofy looking but it is incredibly loud. I was standing outside my house discussing plans to go to Machu Picchu next month when the high-pitched screaming started. I made a point to avoid my back yard for the rest of the afternoon because I knew the slaughter would be even louder. I often find myself saying "oh Peru…"
Another time when I find myself abruptly remembering that I am in Peru is at parties. Some aspects of the parties are amazing. I get to dance with everyone since I am generally a guest of honor and, my favorite part, I get to eat my favorite dish, goat with squash. I always look forward to these parties as a reminder of what I love most about Peruvian culture, the emphasis on sharing and having as good a time as possible. These parties, although fun, are usually a pretty good test for the skills I learned in fifth grade for resisting peer pressure. I am ok with a few sips of beer with lunch to avoid offending my hosts but when the moonshine comes out I am forced to draw a line. When I have to put up a legitimate fight to not take shots of homemade liquor at 2 in the afternoon, I realize that I am no longer in my comfort zone. I have learned to play it off as a cultural difference explaining that I am not accustomed to such aggressive boozing and I enjoy the dancing that ensues.
I have begun to accept many aspects of the culture, which I never expected to be comfortable with but I still retain many of my foreign judgements and values. I am at a point in my service where I am generally pretty comfortable but Peru never fails to throw me major wake up calls when I am least expecting it. Soon, I will be headed off to Cuzco and Machu Picchu where I will probably feel more out of place amongst tourists than I do among Peruvians.
Since I have been here for 11 months, I have not been finding as much inspiration for my blogs as I used to. Sure, I have real projects going on and actual funding coming in, however that stuff is not as fun to write about as cultural mishaps, parasites, and culinary adventures. Yesterday I looked in my refrigerator and I realized that these moments haven't gotten any more rare, I have just gotten used to some of the stranger things that I come across on a daily basis. I went to get my water bottle and noticed the full pig legs with hooves that would later be boiled for lunch alongside the bowl of blood and chicken hearts. Even though I live in a house that has electricity (and recently got internet), I am still in rural Peru and life is different in many comical ways. I don't notice these details as much any more but every so often I get caught off guard, which, depending on my mood, makes me laugh or head straight to my room to watch tv alone on my laptop.
Transportation tends to be one of the main sources of frustration/comic relief for me (again depending on my mood). My usual means of travel is by combi, a 15 passenger van with 20+ people stuffed in. Quite often, people bring their livestock to market on these same vans, which makes the hour ride to my capitol city even more fun. The other day I was on a particularly full combi when a duck escaped from a bag under my seat and went hopping around the bus. I was the only one who had a strong reaction to this. Everyone else seemed pretty okay with the situation. If you wonder how one transports livestock larger than a duck on a van full of people, the answer is, you can put anything up to a medium sized pig on the roof. Today My neighbors were prepping for a wedding which entailed 5 men lowering two substantially meaty live pigs down from the roof of a van. This process is not only awkward and goofy looking but it is incredibly loud. I was standing outside my house discussing plans to go to Machu Picchu next month when the high-pitched screaming started. I made a point to avoid my back yard for the rest of the afternoon because I knew the slaughter would be even louder. I often find myself saying "oh Peru…"
Another time when I find myself abruptly remembering that I am in Peru is at parties. Some aspects of the parties are amazing. I get to dance with everyone since I am generally a guest of honor and, my favorite part, I get to eat my favorite dish, goat with squash. I always look forward to these parties as a reminder of what I love most about Peruvian culture, the emphasis on sharing and having as good a time as possible. These parties, although fun, are usually a pretty good test for the skills I learned in fifth grade for resisting peer pressure. I am ok with a few sips of beer with lunch to avoid offending my hosts but when the moonshine comes out I am forced to draw a line. When I have to put up a legitimate fight to not take shots of homemade liquor at 2 in the afternoon, I realize that I am no longer in my comfort zone. I have learned to play it off as a cultural difference explaining that I am not accustomed to such aggressive boozing and I enjoy the dancing that ensues.
I have begun to accept many aspects of the culture, which I never expected to be comfortable with but I still retain many of my foreign judgements and values. I am at a point in my service where I am generally pretty comfortable but Peru never fails to throw me major wake up calls when I am least expecting it. Soon, I will be headed off to Cuzco and Machu Picchu where I will probably feel more out of place amongst tourists than I do among Peruvians.
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